


Kelly Brook Farm 2 - Changes

by rose_malmaison



Category: NCIS
Genre: AU, Angst, Congressman DiNozzo, Divorce, First Time, Hospital, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, NCIS Big Bang, Original Characters - Freeform, Pre-Slash, Romance, Season 11, Slash, Tony's son - Freeform, horse rescue, protective Gibbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 78,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5041576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_malmaison/pseuds/rose_malmaison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Congressman Tony DiNozzo is kidnapped, and finds refuge at retired NCIS Agent Gibbs’ horse farm, he has to put his life back together. First, he has to recover from his injuries, and work with FBI Agent Fornell to figure out if the now-dead kidnapper worked alone. Jethro is there to help Tony discover himself and find a new path to follow. Includes Tony divorcing Wendy, their 10-year-old son Zack, and Senator DiNozzo (Senior).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: First of all, I made this all up. I know, that’s obvious, but I know very little about the subjects I weave into this story: medical, political, and equine. I do a lot of quick research as I write - so please allow for any inaccuracies. You can, of course, bring them to my attention, and I’ll make necessary changes. Same goes for plot holes.
> 
> This is an AU, focuses on Jethro and Tony, and the world of Kelly Brook Farm, and the story has what you might call a very very slow burn. Tony never worked at NCIS though he was a detective, went to FLETC and is an expert in threat assessment. Up until now, he has never met any of the NCIS people except for Jethro, and him only for a brief time.
> 
> November 2016 - I just revised/edited this and the last chapter expanded into 2 chapters - so now it's 20 chapters in all. Complete!

Written for NCIS-Bang <http://ncis-bang.livejournal.com/>

 

Cover art by rose malmaison

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

KELLY BROOK FARM 2 - CHANGES

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

**CHAPTER 1**

 

Tony ran, ran as fast and as far as he could, heart pounding and lungs aching, every long stride taking him one step further away from danger. It was raining heavily, dark and cold...God, it was _cold_. Intent upon escaping, running for his life, he didn't even think about where he was running. To anywhere but back _there_. Away, get _away_ , don't stop…

 

He saw a light, just ahead, and for a moment he honestly believed it was his imagination. But it was real, a beacon shining brightly in the pitch-black, stormy night. He slipped in mud as he made the turn down the lane, and barely recovered. After opening the gate with frozen, fumbling fingers, he sloshed through puddles in his borrowed boots, and finally made it to safety of the big old farmhouse.

 

Tony banged on the door, calling out for help, but as soon as he heard footsteps within approaching the door, he took a step back, his sides heaving as he tried to catch his breath. For a terrible, heart-stopping moment, as the door started to open, Tony was sure he was about to be faced with the man who'd abducted him, Beals, intent upon killing him.

 

No, that wasn't possible. He was dead… _dead_! He'd killed him, bashed his head in, and left him lying in a pool of blood. Panic rising, Tony poised to run.

 

Before he could move, the door opened fully, and he was faced with a white-haired man with piercing blue eyes. He still could have taken off. All it would have taken was for him to turn and step off that porch, and he would have been gone, disappearing into the downpour. He could have run, but he didn't. It was strange. Once he'd looked into the man's eyes, he found he couldn't move. The man's expression was far from welcoming, yet something behind his intense stare told Tony he would be safe here. So when the man stood aside and invited Tony into his home, Tony accepted the offer, accepting that he no longer needed to run.

 

It was that man, Jethro Gibbs, who provided Tony a hot shower and a razor, hot food and drink, and later, a supportive arm around his shoulders when he lost his first meal in days into the kitchen sink.

 

It was Jethro who talked to him and calmed his fears, and Jethro who proved to be a true friend at a time when Tony was in desperate need of one. It was Jethro, the former Marine and retired NCIS agent, who stalked the kidnapper through the house when Beals turned up alive and tried to take Tony by force. And finally, it was Jethro who had killed the man, blown his brains out, right there on the front porch of Kelly Brook Farm.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Tony woke up coughing. He raised a hand to his sore throat and encountered something hard, plastic, around his neck – a collar, the kind paramedics immobilized you with when they suspect a broken neck. Shit. _Shit_. _Am I…am I paralyzed?_ Trying not to panic, he quickly checked that his legs worked, and sighed in relief when he felt his bare feet move against the sheet. _Okay…good…nothing too bad, then._ There was something pinching the skin at the crook of his left arm, and when he went to check it out, he discovered a needle embedded in his arm. It hurt like a bitch. A half-empty bag of fluid hung from a metal pole next to the bed, medication making its way down a clear tube and into his vein.

 

Tony tried to raise his head to get his bearings, but it was impossible to get more than a couple of inches off the pillow with the brace around his neck. Between the twinges in his neck muscles and the way the room swam, he gave up.

 

A woman spoke from nearby, assuring him, "You're going to be just fine, Congressman DiNozzo. You need to remain still though."

 

"Wha…?" he croaked, straining to see her. There was the whirring sound and the head of the bed rose a few degrees, giving Tony a clearer picture of the room – an emergency room with the usual equipment, pale yellow walls and a curtain for a door. No surprise there. He could hear rapid beeping somewhere above his head. Heart monitor, he thought, while cautiously feeling around and discovering several small tabs stuck to his chest and ribs, wires sprouting out of them. “I am the Borg,” Tony muttered, with a small laugh. Turned out laughing was a bad idea; he started coughing and had a hard time catching his breath, but the nurse was right there, easing him through it and slipping an oxygen mask over his lower face.

 

As Tony stopped hacking and got his breathing back under control, a conversation going on out in the corridor caught his attention. It sounded serious. He thought he recognized the FBI agent, Fornell, and sure enough, Tony caught a glimpse of him through a crack in the curtains at the door. He heard his name mentioned, and then 'Frank Beals,' and all of a sudden the memories came rushing back: being kidnapped, drugged and beaten by that certifiable nutcase with a twisted agenda, Frank Beals.

 

Tony hadn’t known his name until one of the FBI agents had told him his captor’s identity. Throughout his ordeal, Tony had thought of his kidnapper as _Him_ , and plenty of far worse names, too: Colonel Kurtz, Norman Bates, Jack Torrrance. It was unsettling, knowing His name. It somehow made the whole thing seem worse.

 

Tony didn’t want to think of Him as a real person, someone with a job and a car and bills to pay, and presumably a family. No, Tony didn’t want to think of Him at all. It was all in the past now, done and gone. Jethro had taken care of it, killed Him. Done and gone. _Move along folks. Nothing to see here._

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

A few days into his captivity, _He_ became careless and let Tony see his face. Or maybe it wasn’t carelessness at all. Tony knew what it meant, either way: _He_ was going to kill him as soon as he got his hands on the ransom money, as soon as he didn’t need to provide daily proof-of-life.

 

That was when Tony stopped playing nice. He talked incessantly, quoted lines from every kidnapping movie he could think of (the 1938 version of _Kidnapped_ with Freddie Bartholomew; the classic _Ransom of Red Chief_ , where the kid is such a pain, the kidnappers pay the parents to take him back; _Trespass_ with Nicholas Cage and a really hot Nicole Kidman; _The Last House on the Left_ ; _Ransom,_ with a surprisingly effective Mel Gibson; the brilliant Bette Midler in 1986’s _Ruthless People_ ; and the movie that ties with it as one of Tony’s favorites: _Panic Room_ (although it wasn’t really a kidnapping film, more of a home invasion (though that applied, too). Jodi Foster was kick-ass protective of her daughter against the bad guys, and the cinematography was beautiful with that long, continuous shot through the house, a veritable film student’s wet dream. Besides, who could not love a film directed by David Fincher, fresh off _Fight Club_?)

 

Tony debated with his kidnapper over every whacko conspiracy theory He rambled on about, and got beaten up for his troubles, several times, which wasn’t entirely unexpected. Every blow to his abdomen, kidney or head, every welt and bruise, came with the prize of knowing he had truly pissed off his tormentor. As his dad had pointed out on more than one occasion, “Junior, one day you’ll come to your senses and stop poking at ant hills.” Apparently that day had not yet arrived.

 

He was pretty sure there was a strong sedative in the strawberry-flavored power drink he was given twice a day, and not in the peanut butter sandwiches or bottled water, but just to be sure, Tony stopped eating and drinking everything. It took a good eighteen hours, but soon as he regained the ability to think clearly and walk a few steps without falling over, Tony tried to escape.

 

He broke the zip ties binding his wrists together, following instructions he’d once seen on YouTube, and ran for the door. He almost made it, too.

 

They fought within the close confines of the trailer where he'd been held; it was a frenzied, desperate, ‘last chance or else I’m gonna die’ kind of fight. Tony won, barely. He bashed the man over the head, killed Him…No, he had only _thought_ he'd killed Him.

 

 _Should have made sure_. _Should have hit Him harder. Should have smashed in His skull. Should have…_

Tony ran out into the stormy night, and kept on running through the drenching rain, not knowing or caring where he was going, _away, away,_ his heart pounding and lungs aching as he gasped for air. Fear drove him on whenever lightning bolts lit up the sky, picked him up when he stumbled. He never stopped running. He would rather have died than be caught.

 

_Away, just get away, put distance between you… Average foot speed over uneven ground, barring injuries, is four miles per hour…so if I’ve been running…how long?? Hours…days? Just keep running…_

He was out of steam and about to collapse, hating himself for his weakness when he saw it: a light. Then a house. A brightly lit porch. A door that opened and a man who let him in.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

As a cop, Tony had visited ERs enough times to know where he was before even opening his eyes. There was no mistaking the smell of disinfectant and vomit, the cries of pain, the sound of doctors being paged, along with hurried footsteps out in the corridor, and the brisk, caring words of overworked medical staff as they tried to bring a modicum of comfort to the ill and injured.

 

All too often, he'd been the one being wheeled into the emergency department on a gurney: in agony from a gunshot wound in his side, and unable to stop shaking; with broken ribs after a hopped-up druggie had smashed a heavy metal bar across his back, back when he was a rookie beat cop; bleeding out from a knife wound to the thigh that, when they finally released him, took ages to heal; a dislocated shoulder (twice); broken bones (hand, arm, ribs, collarbone – Jesus, the collarbone was the worst pain ever); and a few blows to the head resulting in concussions that ranged from mild to a three-day coma.

 

The guys in Homicide had kept a scoreboard of the more serious injuries the cops in the 7th suffered. Tony's IQ (injury quotient) had been the highest in the precinct, but since he’d left the force six years ago, he’d been pretty much injury-free. The only time he’d set foot in a hospital recently was when he’d officiated at the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new Defense and Veterans Brain Injury Center at Walter Reed.

 

Tony was pretty sure he didn't have a concussion; he couldn’t recall there being any blows to his head. He couldn’t believe that he had any injuries serious enough to warrant being brought to the ER. Okay, so his entire body ached, and his throat hurt a bit, especially when he swallowed. _Being held in a chokehold will do that to you_ , he thought. "Where 'm I?" Tony asked, wheezing a bit.

 

"You're at Bowie Community Hospital." A nurse, wearing sky-blue scrubs, moved into his field of vision. Her name, according to her ID badge, was RRaammoonnaa. Tony blinked a few times and the letters came into focus: Ramona. Oh. That was more like it.

 

"What’s with the collar? Nothing’s…broken?" Tony asked, trying not to sound too anxious. He couldn’t remember if anyone had told him what was going on. He’d been sort of out of it when they’d brought him in, but he was pretty sure he’d been seen by a doctor right away.

 

"You're wearing the cervical collar as a precaution, Mr. DiNozzo. Try not to move your head until we get the all-clear from the doctor, okay?" The nurse, whose curly auburn brown hair escaped a loose bun to frame her face, as if it had a mind of its own, spooned ice chips into Tony’s eager mouth. She watched him attentively as he swallowed. "Dr. Mason will be in to talk to you, as soon as he gets your test results."

 

"Test results?" He remembered taking a swallowing test while they scanned his neck. The stuff they’d made him drink had tasted unpleasantly like chalk.

 

After examining him from head to toe, the doctors had talked within earshot. They had seemed inclined to put him under and hook him up to a ventilator to preserve his airway. Tony got it. Emergency procedure 101: don’t let your patient choke to death. Breathing is important. Still, he didn’t care that the docs were concerned that his throat might to swell. Sticking a tube down Tony’s throat was on the thanks-but-no-thanks list. He might have become agitated, and grabbed at the doctor’s sleeve and told them what they could do with the damned tube. All Tony knew for certain was that they'd backed off, albeit reluctantly, and had given him additional medications in the hopes of reducing the swelling in his neck. _Hey, looks like it worked._

 

"You had blood work done, scans and…" Ramona reviewed Tony's paperwork. "…you had an MRI. It shouldn't be long now. Oh, your friend said to tell you that he'd be back to see you–"

 

 _Jethro?_ Grasping the side rail of the bed, Tony asked, "My friend?”

 

"The guy with the silver hair and intense blue eyes? He came in with you, in the same ambulance.” Ramona looked to Tony for confirmation.

 

“Jethro? He okay?"

 

“Nothing life-threatening. Dr. Rayid took the case. He had a hard time convincing him to leave your side, but his shoulder needed attention," Ramona said, as she typed Tony's stats into a computer attached to a rolling table. She looked up and met Tony's gaze, giving him an amused smile. "I thought they were going to have to call in security, but Agent Fornell stepped in." She said with a shrug, "Military types, police officers, those guys are all the same. They always think there's nothing wrong with them, or that they can tough it out. Your friend, he was about the worse case I've seen.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Worse case this week, anyway.”

 

Tony couldn't help but chuckle, pleased to hear about his new friend's stubborn streak. "That sounds like Jethro." He'd only met the man last night, but Tony felt as though he had known him for a long time. It turned out that laughing, even mildly, hurt, and it made him cough, and that hurt even more.

 

Tony closed his eyes and tried to control the pain, which was escalating quickly. It felt as though someone had hit him in the chest with a sledgehammer, and not only was his neck aching badly, but a big headache was threatening to turn into a migraine. The damned neck brace wasn't helping any. “I’m getting a cramp in my neck,” Tony complained, his voice cracking.

 

The nurse asked, "You want something for the pain, honey?"

 

Normally he would have said no, and would smile and insist he was fine. Like Jethro had. But this wasn't one of those times. "Okay," Tony whispered, giving in. "Guess you can tell I'm not an ex-Marine."

 

"That's okay. One Marine per shift is plenty for me." Ramona injected something into Tony's IV. "This works fast. You rest until Dr. Mason comes in, okay?"

 

Not liking the burning feeling traveling up his arm, Tony asked, “Has my wife…has she…”

 

“I’ll ask Agent Fornell,” Ramona replied.

 

"Is Jethro coming back?"

 

"That’s what he said. Mr. Gibbs…Jethro…told me to take extra special care of you. He was very reluctant to leave you. Everyone is saying he’s quite a hero."

 

“Yeah, he is,” Tony said with a tired smile. He didn't want to fall asleep and miss Jethro, but his eyelids felt so heavy and he couldn’t keep them open. His aches and pains diminished, and soon he was in such a fog that he didn't care about much of anything.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

He dreamed that someone, a man, was standing at his bedside, patting his arm and saying, "Hang in there. You'll be just fine."

 

"Jethro?" Tony mumbled, unable to open his eyes.

 

“No, it’s me. Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Tony awoke to find Agent Fornell sitting nearby on a hard chair, looking through some paperwork. When he became aware of Tony's eyes upon him, Fornell asked casually, "Did you know your temperature was 100 at the scene, and last check it was 102? Bruises, abrasions…Blood in your urine, too."

 

"They did an ultrasound. It’s nothing,” Tony said impatiently. “How's Jethro?" he asked, unable to suppress a dry cough. He'd had pneumonia years ago, after a run-in with a pickup truck full of stolen goods had left him banged up pretty bad, and unconscious for a couple of days. The following days spent in the hospital were best forgotten as far as he was concerned; every breath with the broken ribs painful and exhausting. Tony did not want a repeat of the endless coughing, breathing exercises and excruciatingly slow recovery time. Wendy had liked to bring it up, as People’s Exhibit #1, whenever she tried to get Tony to leave the force.

 

“More to the point, how’d you get all those bruises?”

 

“None of your business,” Tony retorted, pulling the cotton hospital gown further up his chest.

 

“Actually, it is. You forget I’m running the investigation on your kidnapping?” Fornell pointed out.

 

“Considering I’m the one…” Tony coughed a couple of times. “I’m the one who got abducted…sorta hard to forget.”

 

Fornell pulled a sheet of paper out of Tony’s file. He held it so Tony could look at it, then studied it himself. “These bruises didn’t all happen when you made your great escape,” the FBI agent stated.

 

Tony laughed softly and nodded. “ _The Great Escape_. Great film. 1963. Steve McQueen on his Triumph; James Coburn, David McCallum, James Garner…‘Tea without milk is so uncivilized.’ I always loved that line.”

 

“Ribs, lower back, buttocks, thighs,” Fornell read off.

 

“Personally, I like white meat. You ordering Kentucky Fried Chicken?”

 

“This is serious, DiNozzo. The toxicology report is an interesting read: sedatives, anti-anxiety meds, and even an anti-psychotic…It looks like Beals dosed you with his own meds.”

 

Tony let out a snort. “Yeah, I think I got that message.” He gave a couple of half-hearted tugs at the IV in his arm. “Something about me seemed to annoy him,” Tony said in a quiet voice. After a moment of silence, he shrugged and said, “It was like a game. I poked to see how far I could go before he went off the deep end. Maybe I pushed a little too hard?” He smiled ruefully. “Sorta backfired, but…what can I say? Just ask my dad. Or Wendy. They’ll both be happy to tell you I can’t help myself.”

 

_Away, get away, don't stop…Don’t let him lay his hands on you again…don’t let him…_

 

Tony asked, “What?” Fornell had said something and he’d missed it.

 

Fornell eyed him for a moment before saying, “I asked if you feel up to giving a full statement, Congressman.”

 

Tony shook his head. “I can’t. I…D’you know how Jethro is doing?”

 

Fornell slipped Tony’s paperwork back where he’d found it, next to the computer. "Gibbs’ shoulder is giving him a little trouble, but he’ll be fine," the agent said, as if unconcerned.

 

Tony waited, expecting more, but when it became obvious that Fornell wasn’t going to add any more, he asked, "That's all you can say, Mr. FBI-man?"

 

"What makes you think I know Gibbs’ business?"

 

Tony couldn’t quite read Fornell’s expression. There was a tickle in his throat, so Tony kept his voice to a near-whisper when saying, "For starters, you’re a Fibbie. You didn’t think twice about sticking your nose in _my_ confidential medical records.” Unfortunately, even whispering brought on a fit of coughing, and when one of the machines Tony was connected to started to beep urgently, Fornell stood up. If he was about to go and get someone, he didn’t need to because Ramona swept in to see what was going on. She pushed Fornell out of the way, raised the head of the bed a little more and quickly prepared a nebulizer mask to deliver medication to Tony’s lungs.

 

“Keep this on, Congressman,” Ramona said sternly.

 

Tony flapped a hand at her, but he did as she said.

 

“He going to be all right?” asked Fornell, looking worried.

 

“He’s supposed to be resting, not being interrogated,” Ramona said sharply.

 

“He’s under my protection,” replied Fornell.

 

The nurse made a ‘Humph” sound, not impressed.

 

It looked as though Fornell was about to leave, so Tony called out hoarsely, between coughs, "For…nell…Tell…me…" He raised a hand to the annoying mask, but Ramona warned, "Mr. DiNozzo.”

 

"All right. They're talking to Jethro about whether or not he needs surgery," Fornell revealed. "He tore something in the arm that got messed up last year, and he’s waiting for an orthopedic guy to give him the verdict. He’s pissed off because he’s had his share of surgeries on that arm already, and he’s worried he won’t be able to take care of those horses of his. That enough inside information for you, Congressman DiNotso?"

 

Tony nodded and relaxed on the bed. Nobody said so, but he knew that he was the one at fault that Jethro was injured. If he hadn’t let Beals into the house when Jethro had gone out to close the barn door that was banging in the wind…if he hadn’t let Beals get the better of him, and then drag him out onto the front porch…Jethro must have been injured when he’d hauled him out of danger. Now Jethro was facing surgery on his shoulder. Tony had also seen blood seeping through the back of Jethro's shirt, from where he'd been cut by flying glass. Although his rescuer had made light of any injuries he’d incurred, guilt washed over Tony. And then he asked himself, ‘How did I let myself get kidnapped in the first place?’ A question he had no good answer to, because he couldn’t even remember being snatched in the first place.

 

After a while, Tony asked the FBI agent about his wife. “She okay? And my son?” Tony wondered what Wendy had told Zachary about the kidnapping. Tony was often out of town during the week, so his son wouldn’t think it odd if his dad wasn’t around for a few days, but he would have noticed that something out of the ordinary was going on. Zack was a lot like Tony had been at that age, always snooping around, curious, asking questions. Sometimes Wendy got annoyed, or ignored Zack’s persistent questions, but Tony got a kick out of them. He even called the boy ‘Junior Detective’ or ‘Agent Zack’ at times.

 

Whenever Congress was in session, Tony stayed in a rented room in DC, but he made it a point to have dinner with Zack every Friday night and spend some time with him at the weekend. Luckily it wasn’t far from DC to Baltimore, and it was just another short leg out to Roland Park, where Wendy and their son lived, in a McMansion that Tony had never really liked. They’d bought the big house ten years ago, when Zack was born.

 

Fornell told Tony that, for security’s sake, Wendy had been advised to remain at home, but even in his debilitated state, Tony could tell the FBI agent was whitewashing his reply. “Are they safe?” Tony asked. Fornell said they were being well protected, and Tony nodded. Their continued safety was all that mattered.

 

Fornell leaned close to Tony and said, “We need that statement as soon as you’re up to it. We don’t want to miss anything, Congressman, because Frank Beals may not have been working alone.”

 

Tony nodded. Although the vapor he was inhaling seemed to be helping with the coughing, it was nauseating, and Tony hoped he wasn't going to throw up. He watched Fornell step out into the corridor to talk in low tones with a couple of men. With their short hair, and telltale bulges of concealed weapons under their dark suit jackets, there was no mistaking them for being anything but FBI.

 

Once the medicine had done its work, Tony felt a lot better. "Would you know if my Dad is around?" he asked Ramona, when she came by to check on him.

 

“Sorry, hon. I think he already left the hospital. Such a charming man.” The nurse seemed a bit in awe of Senator DiNozzo.

 

Already knowing that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, Tony asked, "Is he coming back?"

 

"I'm sorry, Senator DiNozzo didn't say. I did hear him talking to an administrator about getting you the best room possible." Ramona smiled as if she thought Senior was the best dad ever. "He visited with you soon after you were brought in…You don’t remember?"

 

"Oh…yeah." So it hadn’t been a dream that someone was by his side, comforting him. Despite being disappointed that it hadn’t been Jethro, Tony smiled charmingly at the nurse. "Guess I was out of it. I’m sensitive to a lot of meds. They made me sort of loopy." At least the old man had been there, but Tony was disappointed his father hadn’t waited long enough for him to wake up, if only to say good-bye.

 

Ramona eyed Tony, and she must have sensed he was upset, because she said, "I'm sure the Senator will be back as soon as he's able. I think he said he had important business he had to take care of. Would you like me to see if we can reach him for you?"

 

Tony could tell that the nurse assumed that Senior wouldn't have left his side unless it was for something very important. Tony sighed. He should be grateful that Dad had been there at all. "No…no, don't trouble yourself. I'm fine. Hey, I'll be out of here soon." He hated that he was acting like a little kid, wishing his dad were there. It was stupid, expecting his old man might actually be concerned, for once. "It's okay," he mumbled.

 

It wasn't like Senior had ever been any good at taking care of anyone except himself, anyway. The old man had always been hands-off, although he was pretty good at making calls to get things done. Senior liked to say that knowing the right people and having their private phone numbers handy was only half the job. The important thing was knowing when to deal with it yourself, and when to call in a favor. _"It's like playing poker."_ Tony had always believed that his father's charm, and his little black book, had been more instrumental in getting him elected to the Senate than his conservative stance.

 

Ramona adjusted Tony's pillow and pulled the embarrassing hospital gown further up his chest, covering the wires of the heart monitor. "You need anything, just push this button," she said, pointing out the location of the call button. "We monitor you from the nurse’s station just out there, but I'll be checking on you every few minutes, okay?"

 

"I'll be fine," Tony whispered. He closed his eyes and told himself they were pricking from lack of sleep. He was so very tired, hadn’t really slept since this ordeal had begun, and he hadn’t eaten anything for days…except at Jethro’s, and he’d gone and thrown most of that up. His head was swimming and his fingers felt funny, a sign they'd given him the kind of pain meds he didn’t tolerate well, or else it was too high a dose. Either way, it was too much of a good thing, and the medication was making it difficult for him to keep his emotions under control.

 

Wendy would have told those doctors exactly what they could do with their plans to stick a tube down his throat. But she wasn't there, wasn’t by his side, and never would be again. They were getting a divorce. Their marriage of a dozen years was over; it had been for a long time, really, only he’d been slow to accept it. She wasn’t even coming to make sure he was all right after going through the trauma of being kidnapped. What was it he’d overheard earlier? She’d decided to avoid the media circus, he thought sourly. Funny, considering she’d chosen investigative reporting as her second career.

 

He didn't have anyone in his corner any more, nobody to stick up for him, to tell the doctors that the painkillers they were giving him didn't agree with him, made him feel like he wanted to crawl out of his skin, but drained of energy at the same time. And who was going to fetch his clothes to wear when he left the hospital? He would have to get hold of Lydia, who was the best press secretary anyone ever had. She would do anything for him, and she had a spare key to his place in downtown Baltimore – although she'd never used it.

 

Tony turned his head a little and his eyes slowly focused on a large plastic bag bearing the hospital's logo sitting on a chair. He recognized the red hoodie that Jethro had given him sticking out, the one with MARINES emblazoned across the chest. Must be the clothes he wore coming in. They would have cut them off him, and the thought of Jethro’s hoodie getting cut up and stuffed in a plastic bag was almost too much for him.

 

Tony mumbled, "Jethro'd tell you all where to go." Only Jethro wasn't there. By now, his newfound friend would already be back home, feeding his horses and happy to get back to his normal, peaceful life at Kelly Brook Farm.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

“You have a good shiner there, but there is no damage to the eye itself, and no fracture of the orbit.” Dr. Mason checked Tony's heart and lungs, and assessed the swelling to his neck – which so far was minor – and had a consultation with a respiratory specialist he called in.

 

The specialist, who looked like he couldn't have been more than eighteen, was going on about compromised airways and the possibility of edematous swelling and recommended intubation, speaking as if Tony wasn't present. He wore a badge that identified him as Dr. Doug Howse, so just for fun, Tony repeatedly called him 'Doogie', to see how many times he could get Dr. Howse to correct him. So far Tony had racked up four points. He decided to go for five. “Dr. Doogie…?”

 

"That's Dr. _Howse_ , Mr. DiNozzo."

 

The young doctor didn't get it. Apparently he didn't watch reruns of old TV shows. Tony caught Ramona’s eye and it was obvious that she knew what he was up to. He laughed, even if it brought on another painful bout of coughing.

 

Finally, Doogie left, and Dr. Mason determined it was safe to remove the cervical collar used to stabilize Tony's neck. When Tony sighed in relief, the doctor warned him that although the muscles and nerves were not as badly damaged as they'd feared, he needed to move slowly.

 

Thankfully, the scans showed his spine had not been injured from when he’d been held in a chokehold. “You’re very lucky, Mr. DiNozzo. Your larynx and trachea are undamaged, but blunt trauma to the neck region can cause swelling hours after the event," Dr. Mason warned. "I advise you keep talking to a minimum. And, should you have any difficulty breathing, or have trouble swallowing, alert someone right away. We will, of course be monitoring you closely overnight, and in the morning we'll reassess your case."

 

“Overnight? No, no.” Tony cautiously shook his head. He was glad to be rid of the collar but now his neck felt oddly vulnerable. He rubbed the muscles and said, "Seriously, Doc, I can…recuperate just as well...or better, at home." Tony punctuated his sentence with a cough, which wasn’t helping his case any.

 

The doctor wasn't buying it. No big surprise there.

 

"Your temperature is up and your pressure is down, Mr. DiNozzo. Most likely as a result of being given large doses of tranquilizers, and being kept in less than favorable accommodations for several days. Agent Fornell tells me that the trailer you were kept in was damp and had signs of mold. We need to keep an eye on you, and take precautions against pneumonia," Dr. Mason said.

 

So they’d found where he’d been held for five days. Tony put on his serious face and asked, "Is this a side-effect of the unfreezing?"

 

Ramona giggled and, when Dr. Mason looked at her for an explanation, she blushed and explained, "Oh, it's from _Austin Powers_. Post-cryogenics."

 

"Ah…We'll get you settled upstairs as soon as possible, Congressman." Dr. Mason turned to the nurse with further instructions, and soon left to attend another patient.

 

Tony shared a smile with Ramona. At least he had one person who seemed to understand him.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Tony was still waiting for a room, or the chance to escape, whichever presented itself first. Whatever meds they'd given him earlier was wearing off. Everything was either throbbing or aching, from his knuckles to his eyeballs. His teeth itched and his mouth tasted sour, and what he really needed about now was a handful of Tylenol. Actually, what he _really_ needed was to be at home in his own bed. It felt like it had been a month since he'd been there, not less than a week. But first, he planned to enjoy a steaming hot shower. Yeah, he'd break out a big bar of Kilauea lava soap to scour off the filth that was still clinging to his body. It was going to take more than one shower – and whole case of pumice – to rid himself of the unclean feeling he had from being handled by _Him_.

 

First, before any more time passed, Tony needed to find out what had happened to the man who had rescued him. If he'd already been discharged…well, Tony knew where to find him, at Kelly Brook Farm.

 

A nurse, who Tony hadn’t seen before, came in and checked his vitals. When she was done, she smiled and said, “Looks like you’re good to go, Congressman.”

 

“Where’m I going?”

 

“You’re being transferred upstairs, to the private wing. They’re going to take very good care of you.”

 

Tony asked, "Have you seen Jethro? Don’t want to miss him." His voice was so hoarse that she had to lean close to understand what he was saying. "Jethro Gibbs," Tony repeated.

 

The woman apologized, "I'm sorry, I don't know…"

 

Just as Tony made another attempt at communication, the privacy curtain twitched and FBI Agent Fornell appeared. He looked Tony over carefully as he said, "We had to make sure the room they're moving you to is secure. We’re ready to move now."

 

"You seen him?"

 

"Yeah, he’s getting discharged right now. It looks like he'll be going home."

 

That was good. It took a bit of effort but Tony managed to sit up, one hand clamped around the metal safety rail so he didn't fall back. "I need to see him. You take me to him," Tony said in the most authoritative voice he could summon.

 

"Now you hang on there, son. The only place you're going is up to a VIP medical suite, where it's secure," Fornell said firmly.

 

"I'm fine, and I’m not in any danger," Tony insisted, trying not to cough. "I'm good enough," he said stubbornly. Both the nurse and the FBI agent looked at him skeptically. Okay, so he was panting a bit from the effort of sitting up, but he was sure he could walk out of here on his own, once he disengaged himself from the wires and tubes attached to his body. Tony pulled at the IV stuck in his arm, just to see if it would slip out, but all he gained was a reprimand from the nurse.

 

"Congressman, you need to lie down," she admonished, eyeing a rapidly beeping monitor above Tony's head.

 

"I need to see him…make sure Jethro’s…all right," Tony said, a dry cough punctuating his words.

 

The nurse tried to calm Tony down as she taped the needle more securely to his arm. "Look, if you lie back and relax, I will locate your friend…Jethro?”

 

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Fornell supplied. "I'll keep an eye on the Congressman," he assured the concerned woman. Fornell showed her his credentials. "I need to talk to him, anyway. Official business."

 

The nurse looked dubiously at Fornell. " _You_ can talk, but not him. Doctor's orders."

 

Fornell turned to Tony and repeated, with a smirk, "No talking."

 

"Fine," Tony agreed, his voice a whisper. His throat was suffering from too much speaking, anyway, and if he weren’t careful he'd end up with no voice at all. Fornell indicated that Tony should lie back, and although Tony tried to behave as if it was his own choice, rather than a necessity, he was glad to be lying down again. It was clear that the FBI agent wasn't fooled by Tony's act, but he didn't say anything more about it, for which Tony was grateful.

 

As soon as the nurse exited, Fornell pulled up a stool. "I have a few questions.” He sounded apologetic.

 

Tony indicated his throat. "I can't…" The thought of going into detail about the events surrounding his kidnapping was too much to bear. "You already know…"

 

“Just nod yes or no. The field team located the trailer where you were held. It’s sitting on land that’s been abandoned. They’re starting to gather evidence, and as soon as you’re settled here, I’ll go and oversee the operation.” He cleared his throat and said, “Gibbs told me that you said that Beals placed a call to someone shortly before you escaped. Any idea who that was?"

 

Tony shrugged. He didn’t have any idea, as he’d already told Fornell, when they were still at Jethro’s home.

 

“Gibbs gave me a preliminary statement while they were stitching him up." Before Tony could ask any questions, Fornell added, "They extracted some glass from his back. He'll be fine."

 

Tony snorted. No doubt the federal agent's idea of fine, and Jethro's as well, was similar to his own.

 

Fornell opened his mouth as if to say something, and after a moment of indecision, he said, "He was asking after you."

 

It was becoming increasingly more difficult to remain mute, but Tony knew that the surprised look on his face told Fornell what he was thinking.

 

"Sure. Jethro tends to feel responsible for people, more than was ever required in the line of duty," Fornell explained.

 

"You mean victims," Tony said in a soft voice, unable to remain silent.

 

"I guess. But friends, too. He's as loyal as they come." After a pause, Fornell repeated, "Who did Beals call?"

 

Tony shook his head. He had no idea, just an impression. "His boss? Partner in crime?" Fornell waited for more, so Tony said slowly, "Someone older maybe. Never heard a name. He seemed… intimidated." It struck him that nobody had mentioned the ransom. "The money? Who picked it up?" He swallowed, and then covered his mouth as he coughed.

 

Fornell poured him some water and added a straw to the plastic tumbler. He watched, making sure Tony could drink without choking, before saying, "A teenager was paid a couple hundred bucks to make the pickup. He then tossed it off a pedestrian overpass, onto a truck waiting on the road underneath." Before Tony could ask, Fornell said, "Stolen vehicle, a weak ID on the make and model, and we're not certain if it was even Beals who picked up the cash. We're working on it, but until we can say with absolute certainty that Frank Beals was working alone, we can't risk that his partner might try to do you some harm."

 

"You got someone in mind?” Although it was technically possible that Beals had been working with someone else, Tony was under the impression that the kidnapping was Beals’ idea alone.

 

Fornell studied his hands for a moment and then asked, "Are you aware that Senator DiNozzo had several phone conversations over the past few weeks with Frank Beals’ mother, Marian Tozier?”

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

  

Tony cried, "What? No! My dad would never have anything to do with that woman!" He started coughing so hard he choked, but as soon as the coughing diminished, he struggled to sit up again.

 

Fornell stood and placed a hand on Tony's chest. “You stay down, DiNozzo, or that nurse’ll come back in here and toss me out.”

 

Tony made a frustrated sound and wiped his mouth.

 

Fornell said calmly, "Until we find Beals' phone and find out who he called, we don't know if he was working with someone. C'mon, DiNozzo, you were a cop. You know we have to look at everyone, including your own family."

 

Tony shook his head. Not Dad. Not him. Senior was far from perfect but he’d changed over the years. Okay, so maybe he’d never quite got rid of his con-man persona, but he’d never do anything to hurt his own son. “No,” he choked out.

 

“Take it easy. It looks like Mrs. Tozier made most of those calls, but not all of them. There is evidence Senator DiNozzo and she go way back. Were you aware of that?”

 

Tony looked at Agent Fornell like he had two heads. “No,” he said in a hoarse voice.

 

“Mrs. Tozier worked on your father’s election committee when he was first in politics, over forty years ago. Now she’s going to run for Governor,” said Fornell.

 

Tony covered his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. Forty years ago? Dad had known her from way back yet he’d never mentioned her? There was something more, Tony could see, and Fornell was about to give it to him with both barrels.

 

“Okay, how about this? You’re connected to Robert Tozier.” Before Tony could speak, Fornell said sharply, “I know it’s all business between the two of you, working towards a common cause and all, but he is planning to run against you again, and considering he’s lost to you every time so far…That has to be a pretty hard hit to a man’s ego…”

 

Tony shook his head. “You don’t know Robert. We’re friends,” he said tersely. As far as Rob’s political aspirations went, well, Tony wasn’t running again anyway, so let the best man win.

 

“From what I can determine, Frank Beals was under his mother’s thumb. She called all the shots. Maybe the mother and both of her sons conspired…”

 

“No way!”

 

Fornell continued despite Tony’s protest, “And with you out of the way…”

 

“No!”

 

“Just something to think about.”

 

Tony wanted to yell, and grab the FBI agent by his shirt, and shake him hard enough to scramble his brains. Instead, he said, speaking slowly and firmly, “Not Rob. Hates his mother. She’s a converter. Fucked with his mind all his teen years.” Bad parents – that was one of the things that had brought him and Rob close together, complaining about their childhoods over beers. Compared to what Rob had gone through, Tony had had it easy. He swallowed hard but it appeared that Fornell knew all this from the way he was looking at him.

 

It was true that Robert had been campaigning for Tony’s 3rd District seat, and had lost every one of the past three elections, but Tony had never met such a straightforward, decent guy. He decided to let Fornell know about his decision to leave politics, so he’d stop thinking that Rob was a suspect. “I’m not running again, and Robert Tozier knows about it,” Tony said softly, wishing he could shout the words. “I’m no threat. That’s confidential, Fornell.” He added wryly, “Like my medical records are supposed to be.”

 

Fornell digested that information and asked, “But does his mother know that?”

 

No, because it hadn’t yet been announced that Tony wasn’t going for another term. Tony had told Robert, in confidence, that he was leaving politics at the end of his year. Despite the horrific upbringing Robert had endured with his unbalanced mother, he was an honorable man. He never would have repeated Tony’s business to anyone, especially not to his mother. “Nobody knows except my family…and I mentioned it to Rob.”

 

"Gibbs told me what Frank Beals said when he was holding you hostage. The man sounded like a fanatic who had targeted you for your political views. My men just found evidence at Beal’s apartment that he was following your activities; there were notes, timetables, even photos. There were also clippings and notebooks full of writing about your collaboration with his half-brother, going on about how you turned Robert against his own family. Beals thought there was a conspiracy between you two to ruin his mother's business and to subvert her chance at a bid for the Governor…"

 

Tony asked in disbelief, "Because we were campaigning to stop conversion therapy being used on kids? Their mother…She…Jesus, that's why Rob wouldn't have anything to do with her…the things she did under the guise of counseling gay kids…This whole thing is as crazy as Beals’ whacko conspiracy theories."

 

“When we find Beals’ cell phone, we’ll find out who he called, get some insight,” Fornell concluded.

 

Tony crossed his arms. “Hurry up and find it then.”

 

“I’ll keep you in the loop, Congressman.”

 

Tony reluctantly nodded. “You’ll know where to find me,” he said, being a bit sulky. Tony rubbed his chest; it ached from coughing and he felt drained.

 

"Protection detail is already in place," the FBI agent said, jerking a thumb in the direction of the closed curtain at the door. As soon as Tony opened his mouth to protest, Fornell said, at his stubborn look, "Two agents 'round the clock. It's not up for negotiation, Congressman DiNozzo."

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

There was still no word of Jethro by the time the FBI agents decided to move Tony upstairs. To be fair, it was a smooth operation, and quick, and Tony soon found himself transferred to a more comfortable bed in a private room that came with its own vetted staff. The whole set-up was cushier than any hospital stay that Tony had ever experienced, but a hospital was still a hospital, no matter how much they prettied up the room. And, despite the VIP treatment and the courteous and caring nurse assigned to him, there was one important thing missing: Jethro.

 

Tony was exhausted, and just wanted everyone – except for Jethro – to leave him alone. He said as much to Fornell, and was given the bad news that nobody had been able to locate Jethro Gibbs. “Looks like he checked out,” said Fornell, looking displeased. “I told him I needed to talk to him. Knowing him, he probably lipped out the side door.”

 

Disappointed beyond belief, and feeling worse than he’d done all day, Tony turned on his side, as much as his bruised ribs would allow, and closed his eyes. So that was that. So much for Jethro saying he’d make sure he saw Tony as soon as his own medical exam was complete. Oh well, it wasn’t like Jethro owed him anything. The opposite in fact. And he had his horses, his guests as he called them, to take care of. It didn’t matter. Tomorrow he’d be out of here. He had work to do, and was slated to appear on _The People’s Word_ TV show on Friday. He was supposed to give a report at that Congressional task force meeting, but that wasn’t until next week. God, too much to think about.

 

The FBI agents were talking in low tones in the doorway; someone was there to see the congressman. Tony looked up hopefully, only to find his Chief of Staff, Eric Flaherty, in the doorway. An FBI agent was barring his way, but Tony waved him in.

 

Flaherty had been with Tony since the first day he took office, almost six years ago, and he was a good man to have by your side when the going got tough. As with most of Tony’s staff, they’d been friendly but not friends, worked long hours together, enjoyed striving towards a common goal. Flaherty had about ten years on Tony, and he knew the political scene better than anyone. They had the occasional drink together, and had dinner with each other’s families at least once a year. He was always cool and collected, so now, as Tony saw Flaherty’s expression of deep concern, he realized how much his abduction had affected everyone.

 

“I’m okay,” Tony said. Of course he started coughing, and Flaherty moved closer to the bed. For a moment, Tony was afraid the guy was going to take his hand. It was bad enough being seen weak and banged up like this, but the last thing Tony wanted was anything that even hinted at sympathy. “Just…sit.”

 

"Congressman, they wouldn't allow anyone in, and the others…” Flaherty looked Tony over, taking in the bruises and his black eye, and he seemed distressed. “We were very concerned."

 

"It's all right," Tony said quietly, trying not to strain his voice. He could see how his kidnapping had affected his right-hand man, and now he was hospitalized with some very visible bruises to remind everyone of his ordeal. His whole staff must have been going out of their minds, not knowing for five days if their boss would turn up dead, or would be returned safely once they had followed pre-set instructions and paid the ransom. Tony said casually, "Just bruises, but I’m staying the night."

 

The black and blue marks on his neck and face must look pretty bad, from the troubled expression on Flaherty’s face. "Flaherty…Eric…seriously, it’s only a shiner. I had worse bruises when I was five and the little girl next door fought me for a Tonka truck.” Tony could see that Flaherty wasn’t buying into him downplaying his injuries. He was too tired to keep up the charade, so he said, “Look, I need you to keep everything under control for me. Don't want anyone to be alarmed. Not the staff or my family.”

 

“Everyone’s been calling or emailing, saying how relieved they are you’re free, wishing you well. Hundreds of letters have been pouring in every day. Even the President sent you a personal letter, and he made a formal statement about your release, decrying the kidnapping and thanking your Marine/NCIS friend for his brave action. He–“

 

“Okay…enough. I’ll go through everything with Lydia tomorrow.” Tony coughed a couple of times, took a sip of water, and then laid his head on the pillow with a sigh. “I plan to make that _People’s Word_ interview, so call them. I'll work from home over the weekend, and can be back in the office on Monday.”

 

"But sir…" Flaherty stared at Tony in disbelief. “We should postpone the interview. That’s only two days away.”

 

“No way.” Tony grasped Flaherty's forearm. "I need to show everyone I’m doing fine. Don’t make this more of an issue than it already is. I'm counting on you." He waited until the man nodded, albeit reluctantly, and then Tony closed his eyes. Damn, dealing with all this crap was exhausting.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

 

Gibbs was pissed. Hell, he was _beyond_ pissed. After all the shit he’d been put through, the poking and prodding, the damned tests and exams, half of which seemed completely unnecessary, the surgeon finally showed up, only to inform him that he didn’t need surgery after all.

 

Gibbs bit back the caustic comment that he could have damned well told them that, right at the start, and settled for a growl and a glare. He reined in his temper, telling himself that now he was free to seek out Tony, and that scaring the hospital staff wasn’t going to get him what he needed. It wasn’t easy, but Gibbs did some deep breathing, and after locating a fresh pot of rich, black coffee in the doctor’s lounge, he was in a far better frame of mind.

 

After being manipulated by various technicians and physicians over the past few hours, his arm was aching so badly it felt like it was on fire. A nurse gave Gibbs a shot for pain, and fitted him with a sling that bound his left arm close to his body and held an ice pack in place. Even though the sling was uncomfortable, he did feel better now that his arm was immobilized. It took a little while, but the injection started to work by the time Gibbs was handed the release form. He scribbled his signature so hard that the ballpoint pen tore the paper, accepted a prescription for pain meds, and then went off in search of Tony.

 

Of course the people at the main desk wouldn’t tell him where Tony was, or even if he was still at Bowie Community Hospital. Irked and frustrated beyond words, Gibbs took matters into his own hands. After all, he’d been an investigator for many years, so he would damned well investigate, he thought, as he strode down the long corridors. Gibbs started by locating the nurse with all the curly hair, the woman he’d seen taking care of Tony when they’d first been brought in. He was prepared to wheedle the truth out of her, to lie, and even strong-arm her, if that’s what it took to extract the information he needed. Hell, he’d even pull out all the stops and attempt to be charming, although he doubted he’d be too successful at it, given his impatience and level of pain.

 

The nurse, Ramona, took the wind out of Gibbs’ sails by blithely tucking a stray curl behind her ear, and giving him directions. “Take a left out of the elevator to Five West. Don’t go right or you’ll end up in the psych ward,” she said, with a touch of humor in her eyes. “You didn’t hear it from me.”

 

“No, ma’am.”

 

Now, as Gibbs approached the double doors leading to Five West, he knew why she’d given up Tony’s location so easily. It was a private wing, complete with a large man behind a large desk, wearing an expensive suit and a stern expression. Bret Beezley, Security, as his nametag identified him, politely yet firmly told Gibbs, “Sorry, sir, can’t allow you in.” Nothing Gibbs said would sway the man, though Beezley did agree to call Fornell, and would “Mr. Gibbs please take a seat over there,” he said, pointing to a nearby couch.

 

While Gibbs stood to one side – damned if he was going to let a security guard make him sit down – he kept busy, thinking of ways to circumvent the watchdog in order to get to Tony. A weapon and a badge would have come in handy, as would McGee’s skill at hacking into the hospital’s computer system to allow Gibbs entry to the VIP wing.

 

Just as Gibbs was getting mad enough to seriously think about taking the guard by force, Fornell emerged from the private wing. As soon as he saw Gibbs waiting with a scowl on his face, Fornell grinned, and nodded at the sling Jethro was wearing. "I see they got you all trussed up."

 

Gibbs grunted. "It’s got an ice pack. Thought they'd never finish the damned tests. They made it worse by jerking my arm around."

 

"What's the damage?" asked Fornell. He seemed sincere in his concern, but then they'd known each other for over 20 years now, and had both done their share of visiting each other in the hospital.

 

"Ah…Same old thing. I just need ice. Rest." Gibbs still hadn’t figured out how he was going to take care of half a dozen horses with torn shoulder muscles and sutures in his back. He was lucky that the torn muscles weren’t severe enough to require surgery – at this time – but he didn’t heal as quickly as he did when he was younger. “I want to see Congressman DiNozzo,” he said flatly.

 

"You expect the Congressman to give you a medal for rescuing him?" Fornell asked, smirking. He knew full well that Jethro didn't care about accolades but he liked to yank his chain.

 

"Nah, I got enough. Abby keeps them in a drawer somewhere,” Gibbs said with a shrug of his good shoulder. “Thought I'd see if the Congressman wants a ride home."

 

"You came in an ambulance," Fornell reminded him.

 

“I’ll figure something out,” Gibbs replied.

 

“Hmmm. They may want to keep him a couple of days. Overnight, anyway.”

 

That wasn’t unexpected, but Gibbs was disappointed. He still wanted to have a brief talk with Tony before they parted ways. Not that Gibbs knew what the hell he was going to say, but hopefully whatever he came up with would be enough to convince Tony that they should meet up again sometime. Maybe for a ballgame on TV. Or a beer and steak. Yeah, that would be good. Fornell was looking at him a little oddly, so Gibbs said, "I called McGee, when I first got here, to get a ride.”

 

Fornell looked around. “Jesus, does that mean the whole of NCIS is in the waiting room?”

 

“Nah, I told him to keep everyone at bay. I’ll phone him when I’m ready to leave,” Gibbs said, knowing McGee would not be coming alone.

 

Fornell looked at him with skepticism. “Somehow, I doubt that even Special Agent McGee can keep Ms. Scuito at bay, Jethro.”

 

Despite himself, Gibbs smiled. “Abby and Palmer were coming to the farm this morning. They would’ve found the place cordoned off with yellow tape. I wanted McGee to let them know I wasn’t dead.” He found it hard to believe that it was only last night he’d met Tony for the first time, and that morning he’d killed a man. “I’m sure they called Ducky and Dorneget and…hell, Bishop’s probably renting a van big enough to hold the whole lot of them," Gibbs said with a shake of his head.

 

The relief in McGee’s voice when they’d spoken had been evident, and it had only taken a minute for the agent in charge of Gibbs’ old team to devise a plan to rescue him. “Just need a ride, McGee, not a mounted assault. I’ll call when they’re done with me. It’ll be a few hours,” Gibbs had said, preventing them all from rushing over.

 

Fornell remarked sourly, "You're still their boss, even after retiring? It's like having kids that never leave home."

 

“Or ex-wives who come around at the worst of times.”

 

“Okay, that’s worse.”

 

"I keep telling them not to call me Boss," Gibbs said in an irritated tone.

 

“Your exes?” Fornell asked.

 

Gibbs snorted. “Yeah, right.” He wasn't about to admit that he had a soft spot for the agents he had worked with, and trained, over the years. He was proud of them, too, and although he hadn’t handed out accolades, they knew when they’d done good. McGee had stepped into his boss’s shoes with a self-confidence Gibbs hadn’t entirely expected, and although there had been a few late-night visits when the new head of the MCRT had come to Gibbs for advice and a headslap, Timothy McGee was proving to be a fine leader.

 

His shoulder was aching, and his energy level was rapidly waning. He would be glad to get out of this hospital, and he'd bet Tony felt the same way. Dr. Rayid had been thorough, which was good, because it meant he’d performed all possible tests, and Gibbs would not have to return anytime soon. Rayid had let him go only after he had sworn he’d follow up with his regular doctor in a couple of days.

 

But before he left, Gibbs needed to see with his own eyes that Tony was all right. “How about you use some of your FBI clout, Tobias, and get me past those doors?”

 

At Fornell’s request, the guard handed Jethro a visitor’s ID. “C’mon, Gibbs. Let’s go see your congressman.”

 

“He isn’t my congressman,” Gibbs asserted, as they walked through the doors and down a quiet, carpeted hallway.

 

Fornell snorted in reply.

 

Even if the two FBI agents standing guard outside Suite 506 hadn’t been a dead giveaway, the frustrated male voice emanating from the room, belonging to the doctor, told Gibbs he had found the right place.

 

“Maybe we should wait until the doc is finished,” warned Fornell. They could hear some arguing and then someone, presumably Tony, coughing. The doctor seemed to be trying to convince him of something. If Tony responded, they couldn’t hear what he said from the doorway.

 

In a quiet voice, Gibbs asked Fornell, "You know how he’s doing?"

 

Fornell replied, keeping his voice down, "I think they're still worried about his airway because of the bruising to his neck. He’s lucky it wasn’t worse.”

 

Gibbs flashed back to the night before, reliving seeing Tony being in a chokehold, Beals yanking him roughly across the living room while ranting about everyone conspiring against him. Gibbs was well aware of how close Tony had come to being killed. “Yeah.”

 

“I mean, he’s lucky you were there,” Fornell said.

 

Gibbs accepted Fornell’s comment with a nod. He could just make out Tony’s voice, talking to the doctor. It sounded like he was straining, as if it hurt to talk.

 

While they waited, Fornell said, “Some of the Congressman’s staff members and friends came to see him earlier. I had a hell of a time getting them to leave, but they can’t see him until tomorrow. He talked to his Chief of Staff, but no more visitors are allowed. Except for you.” Fornell jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Those folks from DiNozzo’s office act more like family than his father does," he said critically. "The Senator came to the ER for all of ten minutes, hours ago, and barely looked in on his son. Next thing, he was out front talking to the press.”

 

“What about DiNozzo’s wife?”

 

Fornell hesitated, but he didn’t seem to have a reason why Tony’s wife hadn’t yet made an appearance. “I assigned round-the-clock protection detail for Mrs. DiNozzo and their son.”

 

“They in danger?” asked Gibbs. His gut told him that Beals didn’t have an accomplice, but it was never good to assume anything.

 

"You know the drill; until we're satisfied that Beals was working alone…” Fornell left the sentence unfinished. “We advised her to leave town, maybe stay with her parents until we confirm it’s safe. She agreed to leave tomorrow morning.”

 

“You know her?” Gibbs couldn’t help but be curious about Tony’s wife, Wendy. He didn’t get the feeling that Fornell knew about Tony’s pending divorce. Knowing that the DiNozzos must have kept it quiet for a good reason, Gibbs certainly wasn’t about to disclose Tony’s personal business.

 

“I only met Mrs. DiNozzo a few times over the past few days. She handled the stress of her husband’s kidnapping pretty well,” Fornell said carefully.

 

Gibbs read between the lines. “Cool customer?”

 

Fornell sighed. “Let’s put it this way: she never missed a day of work at the _Baltimore Beat_ during the time her husband was missing. Don’t get me wrong; Mrs. DiNozzo seemed concerned, and did everything we asked of her. She seems close to his father, the Senator; she leaned on him during the time her husband was missing.” He concluded, “People handle stress differently. Some have to keep to their normal routine or else they’ll fall apart.”

Gibbs understood about being stoic, and keeping it together, especially when things got tough. If you panicked, you stood to lose everything in a dangerous situation. Still, if any member of his own family had been kidnapped and their life was hanging in the balance, he would go mad with worry. He’d be the first person by their bedside at the hospital, and nothing would keep him away. But not even making an appearance when your husband was rescued? Or when he was rushed off to the ER? He didn’t get that at all. Fuming at the lack of caring and support Tony was getting from his family, Gibbs said, between gritted teeth, "Yeah, well I’m here for him."

 

Fornell patted Gibbs on the back and nodded. “Look, Gibbs, I'm going to my office as soon as I’m done here. Why don’t you come with me and we’ll get your statement written up?"

 

Sitting in an FBI office and giving a formal statement was the last thing Jethro wanted to do right now. It was only early afternoon but it felt like he’d been there a lot longer. Plus he had horses to tend to. While he’d been waiting to see a doctor, he’d phoned Moira and told her what was going on. Of course she’d immediately said she’d go out to the farm and take care of the horses. Gibbs had placed a call to Abby next, while lying on a gurney, waiting for a scan. By the time he’d reached Abby, she’d already been to the farm with Palmer, and was freaking out. It had taken a lot of work to calm her down. Repeating, “I’m fine. I’m fine, Abby,” eventually convinced her he wasn’t badly injured. “I need you to work with Moira, Abs. She’ll be there any minute. I’m counting on you,” had done the trick.

 

Just the same, he didn’t like leaving the horses alone too long. They weren’t used to strangers handling them. No matter how gentle Abby might be, she didn’t understand each of the horse’s quirks and needs. Gibbs sighed. "Can this wait until tomorrow?"

 

"Depends. You have anything important to add that you haven't already told me?"

 

Gibbs glared at the FBI agent. He might be retired, but he hadn’t forgotten how an investigation was run, and he'd already told Fornell everything he had known as soon as the FBI agent had arrived at the farm that morning. "I know your number if I think of anything," Gibbs pointed out. "Hey, did you get the bag of wet clothing Tony was wearing?"

 

"It's been added to the evidence. We located the trailer where DiNozzo was held, by the way. About two miles from your farm, on an abandoned property. My people are processing it now. No sign of the ransom money, or his cell phone." Fornell was about to continue but he was distracted by the sound of the doctor saying urgently, "Mr. DiNozzo, you need to calm down.”

 

Gibbs listened as Tony spoke loudly despite the damage to his throat. “I want my own doctor…Dr. Pitt…Bethesda…I don’t care…” Tony's voice cracked mid-sentence, followed by a bout of coughing accompanied by urgent beeping from a machine.

 

Following his instinctive need to be by Tony’s side, Gibbs shouldered his way into the room. He sensed that Fornell was right behind him, but he was too focused on Tony to look back. Gibbs watched the doctor administer medication to an IV, and one of the two nurses in the room fought to place an O2 mask over Tony’s pale, sweaty face.

 

“Please, out of the way,” said one of the nurses, when Gibbs approached the bed, giving him a glare that would have had lesser men quaking in their boots. He had no intention of leaving, but he stepped back a little. If they tried to eject him, he would have to fight them on it.

 

The nurse’s attention returned to her patient. Wild-eyed and gasping for every breath, Tony was on the edge of panic, pushing at the mask in an effort to be rid of it. One of the nurses took hold of his arm and tried to restrain him, saying, “Mr. DiNozzo! Mr. DiNozzo, _Tony_ …I need you to…”

 

Tony was shaking his head, making desperate sounds, and Gibbs could see that he wasn’t hearing anything the nurse was saying. Gibbs stepped right up to the bed and placed a steadying hand on Tony's shoulder. He said in a commanding voice, "Tony, take it easy. We’re trying to help you. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

 

Tony struggled, coughing weakly, but Gibbs calmly repeated that he was going to be fine, to take it easy. “Listen to me…breathe slowly…that’s it…I’m here for you,” he said, leaning over the bed. Tony's eyes locked on Gibbs’. He seemed surprised to find Gibbs at his side, and then relief flooded his face. “That’s right, I’m here,” Gibbs said, with a smile. Without taking his eyes off Tony, Gibbs said to the medical staff, “He’s been through a lot the past few days. Everyone needs to back off, don’t crowd him.” He felt, rather than saw, them stepping away, and gradually the frantic beeping slowed down.

 

Gibbs made sure the mask stayed in place, keeping eye contact with Tony until his breathing improved and the coughing eased. The doctor was intent upon watching the monitors, but eventually he nodded. It appeared that the crisis was over.

 

Tony’s lips moved and Gibbs leaned close so he could catch what the man was saying. “You? Okay?”

 

“Hey, don’t worry about me.” Gibbs was touched that even in the state Tony was in, he was concerned about his wellbeing. He glanced down at his arm in its sling. “This is nothing.”

 

Gibbs looked up to find the doctor frowning at him, as if trying to remember where he’d seen him before.

 

"Jethro Gibbs?”

 

“That’s me, doc.”

 

“Ah, I should have known this young man was one of yours."

 

Gibbs shook the doctor’s hand with his uninjured one, and as he did, he remembered the man’s name, and where he knew him from. "He's not on my team, Dr. Mason, but he's …uh…I guess he’s my responsibility. Thought you were at Bethesda.”

 

“Not any more. I live in Bowie now, with my family. I thought you’d retired.”

 

“I have,” Gibbs said with a nod. He kept an eye on Tony, who was breathing easier, and seemed interested in the exchange.

 

Fornell, who was standing out of the way, said, "The real reason that the doc took a job out here in Bowie was so he wouldn't have to patch up you NCIS boys every week."

 

Dr. Mason grumbled good-naturedly, "If it weren’t for Dr. Mallard taking care of the lesser injuries, I expect I'd have seen you NCIS agents more frequently. Your people step into the line of fire way too often.” He turned to Fornell and said, “And your agents aren't much better." The doctor took a moment to look pointedly at Jethro's trussed-up arm. "I thought I gave you strict instructions not to mess up that arm again."

 

"Yeah, well, trouble seems to follow me." Gibbs gave a one-shouldered shrug. He glanced at Tony, who looked exhausted and in need of sleep. Without any forethought, Gibbs took hold of Tony's hand. He was surprised at how strong his grip was. Meeting Tony’s tired gaze, Gibbs said, "One thing about living on a farm, strays just turn up on the doorstep." That made Tony smile behind the mask, and for the first time since they'd been rushed to the hospital, Gibbs felt some of the tension he’d been carrying around ease up. "I needed to make sure they were taking care of you," he said quietly to Tony.

 

"I'm fine," Tony said, his voice barely there, muffled by the mask. He kept his gaze fixed on Jethro's face, and didn't seem to notice when the nurse injected the contents of a syringe into his IV port. Tony frowned and asked, "Where you been?"

 

"They were holding me hostage down in X-ray," Gibbs said, indicating his sling. “I sorta gave them a hard time. They seemed to be glad to see the back of me.” He was glad to see that made Tony smile.

 

Whatever they'd given Tony worked fast, because his eyelids started to droop. He blinked heavily and coughed a couple of times, and mumbled, "Took you long enough…to get here."

 

Before Gibbs could respond, Tony fell asleep with a sigh.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

 

Coffee. He could smell coffee and his stomach rumbled with hunger. Opening one eye, and then the other, Tony discovered that Jethro was sitting at his bedside. Well, more like he was snoozing, listing to one side, cradling his injured arm in his sleep. He looked pale and worn out, and should be home in bed, thought Tony. It was dark out, and a bedside lamp was casting a warm glow over the hospital room.

 

There was a magnum-sized Java Joe's cup on the rolling table that extended over the bed, hence the enticing aroma of coffee. Right next to it sat a tray bearing several small dishes of what appeared to be baby food. Tony pulled a face and asked aloud, "Think we can order pizza?" A nasal cannula was irritating his nose, and although anything was better than an oxygen mask, his throat was so dry and gritty that just uttering a few words cause him to cough.

 

The dry coughing immediately woke Jethro up. Startled, Jethro jumped to attention. The sudden movement must have jarred his shoulder; he let out a gasp and hunched over before sitting down abruptly. Tony hated seeing Jethro in pain, and he muttered, “Shit,” while pressing the call button.

 

After a long moment, Jethro looked up to find Tony watching him intently. A flush rose up his neck. "Forgot," was all Jethro said.

 

Tony asked, "Are you okay now?" He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get a truthful answer, but he had to ask anyway.

 

Jethro wiped his forearm across his forehead. “If I don’t make any sudden moves.”

 

“Sorry I startled you,” said Tony.

 

Jethro looked embarrassed and shrugged it off. “Not your fault.” His taut mouth and trying-too-hard-to-be-in-control expression indicated he was still feeling considerable pain.

 

A nurse entered and Tony pointed at Jethro, who was trying his damnedest to act as if he was perfectly fine. The nurse, who said her name was Celia, questioned him with a ‘Don’t mess with me, honey’ kind of attitude. With a put-upon sigh, Jethro awkwardly pulled a prescription pill container out of his pants pocket. “Got these,” he said, squinting at the label.

 

“They won’t do you any good sitting in your pocket,” admonished the nurse.

 

She held out her hand but Jethro shook his head and struggled to open the prescription container on his own. He swore under his breath but soon got the top off. He shook out two pills and took them with a mouthful of coffee. “Refill?” he asked the nurse.

 

“There’s a fresh pot at the nurse’s station. I’ll get you some,” Celia said, shaking her head. She turned to Tony, inquiring if he needed anything.

 

“Pizza?” Tony asked hopefully.

 

“Sorry, pizza is not on the menu tonight. You should drink as much as you can. It’ll help your sore throat. How about you eat…” Celia looked over Tony’s meal and said tentatively, “That brown stuff and some of that green stuff?”

 

“What is it?” Tony asked, peering at the unappetizing stuff on the tray.

 

“The brown is…apple sauce? Green is jello,” Celia said, not sounding at all certain.

 

Tony poked at the green stuff with a spoon and watched it wiggle. “’I am lime-green jello and I can’t even admit it to myself.’”

 

Celia’s expression brightened. “That’s from that Megan Fox movie, right?”

 

“ _Jennifer’s Body_ ,” Tony confirmed. “Female empowerment disguised as a bloodbath flick.”

 

“I thought it was sort of sad, even if she did slaughter a lot of folks. Now, let me check on a few things here, and I’ll be out of your hair in a jiffy, Congressman.”

 

“Please, call me Tony,” he corrected, smiling. He received a wide smile from the nurse in response. Tony looked over at Jethro, who was staring at him. “What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Oh, God, I sounded just like my father right then, didn’t I? Better watch that,” Tony said to Jethro with a smile, a genuine one.

 

“Your father talk in riddles as much as you do?” Jethro inquired.

 

“Riddles? Oh, no…movie quotes. No, he’s not a movie buff. He likes watching the Weather Channel though. And anything about the Civil War.”

 

Celia made notes of Tony’s stats. He was still connected to a couple of machines but they had been put on silent mode, thankfully. Currently there was one, rather than two IVs delivering medication into his arm. Jethro glanced at Tony’s oxygen stats and saw they’d improved a lot in the last couple of hours.

 

Before Celia left, she told Tony, “Things are looking better, but your temperature is still high. Think you can swallow some Tylenol or you prefer a shot?”

 

“I can handle pills,” he said quickly.

 

“Oh, and I’m supposed to inform you that a Dr. Bradley Pitt is coming in to see you soon.”

 

Tony vaguely remembered demanding his own doctor. “Did my dad call Dr. Pitt?”

 

“No. I called him,” Jethro said gruffly.

 

“You did?”

 

Jethro waited for the nurse to give Tony some Tylenol, and for her to leave, before replying. “I told Dr. Mason that if he wanted what was best for you, he’d better get your doctor over here, just like you’d asked.”

 

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Did you threaten Dr. Mason?”

 

A slight flush colored Jethro’s neck. “Didn’t need to. He did like I asked.”

 

Tony laughed. “I think maybe you sound threatening even when you ask nicely.”

 

“I just made a request,” Jethro protested, somehow looking innocent.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure you did,” Tony replied. He smiled broadly at Jethro, finding that he liked him more and more, as time went by. And, for some reason, he felt comfortable with Jethro Gibbs. Of course the man had gone out on a limb and protected him from that crazy Frank Beals. And he’d been hurt as a consequence, and had played it down.

 

Usually, Tony kept his distance from people; he was nice to everyone he met, often charming, amusing, sometimes serious or concerned – all genuine emotions – but he rarely gave any of his true self to them. He’d learned his lesson the hard way, by trusting his own father, Wendy, a handful of other people who he’d become close to, and then getting his heart ripped out for being so open. A sucker, that’s what he was. Jethro though…he seemed different, more genuine. No apparent agenda. It was nice to be able to engage in small talk with him, to sit here without worrying Jethro was waiting for an opportunity to sneak under his defenses.

 

Jethro settled back in his chair and looked Tony over. "You’re better."

 

Tony noticed that Jethro tended to make statements rather than ask questions. He agreed, "I’m not coughing so much."

 

Jethro indicated his own face and neck while eyeing Tony. "Bruises are getting colorful, but at least you don't look so…gray."

 

"Gray is not a good color on me," Tony said seriously. He touched his ribs. “My skin looks like squished bananas. Nothing broken though.” The swelling around his eye had gone way down and he could, thankfully, see out of it, but it was badly bruised, as was his neck. The bottom line was that he felt battered, and very tired, and no wonder, after everything that had happened in the past week, being kidnapped and beaten, escaping and getting manhandled when his persistent kidnapper showed up at Jethro’s. However, within a few days, the muscle aches would lessen and he’d be able to get right back to work. It was important to show his face, to prove to the world that he hadn’t been diminished in any way by his experience. He coughed a bit, and although the coughs soon stopped, he was exhausted.

"It hurt to talk?"

 

Tony cleared his throat. "No, sort of scratchy though." He wiped a hand over his forehead and reached for a plastic cup of water. “I feel kinda hot. Can we open a window?”

 

Jethro didn’t hesitate. He opened the window furthest away from Tony’s bed, just a crack. "Bet it would take a lot to prevent you from talking," he said, a slight smile on his lips. He replenished Tony’s empty cup and found him a drinking straw.

 

"You'd win that bet," Tony admitted. “Jethro? Why did he threaten me with a knife when he had…”

 

“Had a gun?” Jethro nodded. He knew exactly who Tony was talking about. “Most people find a blade scarier than a gun. They can better imagine getting cut than being shot,” he said matter-of-factly.

 

Tony nodded slightly. He’d been scared shitless; sharp blades did that to him. “It worked.”

 

“He was insane,” Jethro pointed out.

 

Again, Tony nodded.

 

“He was hurting you,” Jethro said with a growl.

 

“I know,” Tony said, whispering, wondering why this was so difficult to deal with, to even to talk about.

 

“’They bring a knife, we bring a gun,’” Jethro quoted.

 

Tony blinked at him. “Are you…quoting Sean Connery?”

 

Jethro cocked his head a little. “Am I?”

 

Tony chuckled. “Good thing we don’t live during Prohibition, because as soon as I get home I’m going to have a big drink.” He turned his head to look out the window. The long shadows suggested it was late in the day. "I guess I’m stuck here for the night." His neck and back ached pretty badly, and they’d found blood in his urine, courtesy of Beals’ heavy fists. At least he didn’t have to wear the neck brace any longer. It had given him muscle spasms, made things worse. “I don’t know why they’re keeping me here. I just want to go home,” Tony said longingly.

 

"Funny thing is, when people are coughing and choking, and have a fever, they like to keep an eye on them," Jethro said sourly.

 

Tony couldn't help smiling at Jethro's sourpuss face, and because it was pretty obvious that Jethro’s sarcasm was covering up the fact he cared about his wellbeing.

 

"What?" Jethro demanded, scowling.

 

"Nothing. Just…you try so hard to prove you're not a nice guy when you really are, underneath all the tough Marine, NCIS-agent vibe you have going on. Really are nice, I mean." Tony tried a spoonful of the green jello, smiling to himself.

 

"Vibe? I have a vibe?" Jethro demanded, as if the word was dirty.

 

Tony continued eating. “This isn’t half bad. Minty.”

 

“Must be the VIP jello. I’ve never had any jello I’d ever call good.”

 

Tony took another bite before putting the bowl back on the tray. “I’d rather have a bowl of your chicken noodle soup, and be sitting in front of your fire,” he said wistfully. He felt hot and uncomfortable, and wished he was anywhere but in the hospital. “What time’s it?”

 

Jethro said, “It’s almost five.” His phone buzzed in his pocket. After pulling it out and glancing at it, he said, “My team…my people are here.”

 

Disappointed, Tony managed to say, "Oh," which sounded so feeble he mentally kicked himself. He forced a smile, finding it harder than usual to make it seem natural. "Of course, you have to get back. You should rest. Sorry about wrecking your home,” he said, referring to the big hole on the front porch that Beals had fallen into. “Not sorry about what happened to _him_ though.”

 

“I know.” Jethro took hold of Tony's hand and gave it a squeeze.

 

Tony almost wished the man would just go if he was going, and not drag it out, because now his eyes were hot and pricking, and any minute he'd be making a fool of himself.

 

Jethro said softly, "I could stay."

 

Tony came to his senses. "No, no. You need to get back to your life. I'm gonna conk out any minute. So much for being the life of the party,” Tony said with a self-effacing smile, letting his hand slip out of Jethro’s.

 

Jethro continued looking at him, as if he were waiting for something. "You know my door's always open."

 

"I know. And…thank you, Jethro. Only, you’re getting the short end of the stick.”

 

Jethro raised his eyebrows questioningly.

 

“You know what it means when you save someone’s life…" Tony managed to give a bright smile.

 

Jethro didn't smile in return. "Yeah. It means I’m responsible for you forever," he said seriously, getting to his feet.

 

"I’ll see you.” Tony wondered why it felt as though he was losing his best friend.

 

“Semper fi. You take it easy, let others do the heavy lifting,” Jethro warned, his voice low and kind.

 

“You, too, Jethro. Take care of that arm,” Tony replied. He closed his eyes, not wanting to watch Jethro leave, wishing he could say something to make him stay, yet knowing how selfish that was.

 

“You’ll be okay?” Jethro laid a hand on Tony’s shoulder, encouraging Tony to open his eyes and look up at him.

 

Tony wasn't used to being on the receiving end of any comforting gestures, and would normally shake it off, but it felt too good to deny. "Sure," Tony said with a tired smile. "Lydia will sneak some pizza in here, in that big handbag of hers. I’ll be my staff has been celebrating. I’ll bet they made a bundle.”

 

Jethro frowned. “On what?”

 

Tony looked askance at Jethro. “You don’t think that the kidnapper wanted me out of his hair badly enough to pay _them_ to take me away?" he joked.

 

“I have heard you can be quite a pain,” Jethro replied with an amused snort.

 

“True, and I’ll have you know, my reputation is very important to me,” Tony said with a smirk.

 

“It’s good to have people who care about you, Tony. Here’s my numbers.” Gibbs scribbled a couple of phone numbers down on a brochure left on Tony’s bedside table. The cover featured a graphic illustration of lungs filled with the words, ‘wheeze HACK cough.’

 

“Could you…do you know where…the red hoodie is? They cut it off me,” Tony said, hating that his words were so clumsy.

 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jethro said with a nod, and then he turned on his heel and was gone.

 

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

 

As tired as he was, Tony couldn’t sleep. He dozed for a while, but the nurses kept checking on him, drawing blood, giving him liquids, helping him to the bathroom – which he could have done perfectly well on his own, had he not been attached to an IV and a couple of monitors.

 

When Dr. Pitt arrived a couple of hours later, Tony was finishing a phone conversation with his father. It was a short call, as Tony was tired, and his voice wasn’t strong enough to do battle with his overbearing father. Tony often gave in to his father’s wishes, but this time he was determined not to let him run roughshod over him.

 

“No, Dad, I am not doing a press conference…no…no, I can barely speak…I don’t care what your publicist…I don’t have a publicist. When did that happen?” Tony brushed his hair back and talked over his father. “If you give any statements that even _sound_ like you’re speaking for me, I am going to call George McKinsey at _The Press_ and promise him a private interview, and I’ll let the world know how fucking high-handed…Yes, that _is_ a threat. Jesus, Dad, aren’t you even listening?”

 

Tony saw Brad cautiously enter his room, and decided he’d had enough of quarreling with his father. He coughed a couple of times and said in a hoarse voice, “You know what, Dad? I’m done. You talk to the press. Do your campaigning. Just don’t speak for me.” He hung up the phone and covered his eyes with his hands. “You ever I wish you were an orphan?”

 

“Every time I had to compete with my five brothers and sisters for the bathroom,” Brad said with a chuckle.

 

Tony lowered his hands. “Sounds like fun.”

 

“I can tell you never had siblings,” Brad said. His expression turned serious. “From everything I’ve read in your file, and from what Dr. Mason has filled me in on, you shouldn’t be talking at all, Tony.”

 

Tony gave Brad a big smile with his lips together, and made as if to zipper them.

 

“Yeah, okay. I know it isn’t easy. Since you called me, it’s all right if I look you over?” Tony nodded and Brad proceeded to take Tony’s vitals. He checked Tony’s injuries, and his lungs, and then asked him some questions that demanded brief responses. “You’ve been through the wringer.”

 

“Squeezed dry,” Tony admitted. He picked at the blanket for a minute, then asked, “Why can’t I remember how he caught me in the first place?”

 

Brad indicated the side of Tony’s neck, slightly behind his ear. “There’s a bruise here. It appears that you were injected with a fast-acting sedative.” Tony’s hand immediately flew to his neck, and Brad explained, “The drug screen showed traces of various chemicals in your urine, including ketamine. It’s potent and very dangerous.”

 

Tony felt sick. “How did he…?”

 

Brad said, “Not sure. Possibly got you in a chokehold, jabbed the needle into you, and held you until it worked. It could have gone very badly for you.”

 

Brad’s expression convinced Tony he was very lucky to be alive. “I can’t believe I was stupid enough to let someone come up on me like that.”

 

“You were jogging?”

 

“I think…maybe I stopped to tie my shoe.” Tony pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “I don’t know…”

 

“It’s okay,” said Brad, looking concerned.

 

Tony just shook his head helplessly. It wasn’t okay, not at all. “He must have had a vehicle right there.” He imagined Beals dragging him like a 200-pound sack of potatoes across the sidewalk, and dumping him in a van. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

 

“The other drugs he gave you were a mix that should never be given together,” Brad noted. “I’m surprised you remember anything at all, Tony. You’re very lucky…”

 

Tony laughed humorlessly. “Maybe I should head for Vegas, what with all this luck I’m having.”

 

“I would advise you to take it slowly, rest up,” said Brad, with a look of warning. “The good news is that you don’t seem to have any lingering effects; the bruises will fade, kidneys are improving, and most importantly, your lungs sound good. You have nothing major to be worried about.”

 

Tony nodded. He’d been exposed to a chemical agent when he was on assignment in the Middle East for Global Elite. That was over ten years ago, and his lungs, although greatly improved, had never been the same. If Dr. Pitt hadn’t been the pulmonary specialist on call at the time, and if hadn’t urged him to fight harder, Tony knew that he would have died a horrible death, choking on his own blood.

 

“How about the rest of you though?”

 

“You mean…like my wrists? They’re okay.” Tony looked at his bandaged wrists.

 

“Actually, I was talking about your mental state. Now, don’t roll your eyes at me, Tony. You’ve been through a hell of a lot the past week, and it’ll take a while for everything to calm down, and even more time before you feel normal again.”

 

Tony sent Brad a puzzled look. “I’m normal, or as normal as I’ll ever be.”

 

Brad looked thoughtfully at Tony. “How do you feel right now?”

 

With a sigh, knowing he had to go through this test before the doctor would deem him well enough to go home, Tony said, “Relieved. Happy, I guess.”

 

“You’re not sure if you’re happy?”

 

Slightly annoyed, Tony responded carefully, “I am happy I got out alive. I’m more than happy…or maybe glad is a better word, that Jethro Gibbs killed the guy who held me hostage. I will definitely not be experiencing any guilt over that. I’m irritated that I have to jump through hoops before you’ll believe me when I say I’m okay. I’m not freaking out. I was a cop. I get it, that I’ll probably have bad dreams, and be stressed out and overly cautious for a while. However,” Tony said, holding up a finger to prevent Brad from interrupting him while he drank some water. “However, I plan on carrying a concealed weapon from now on, and if that makes me seem paranoid or freaked out, well, I’m not. I’m taking preventative measures, protecting myself, that’s all.”

 

Far from being alarmed, Brad seemed satisfied with everything Tony had disclosed to him. “My advice is for you to connect with your friends and family, Tony. You need to be in a safe environment for a while. Besides, you could do with a couple of weeks of down-time to recover from your injuries, and it’s not like you can do any public speaking so long as your cough persists.” He held out his hand, and Tony shook it. “You’re a strong man, Congressman. Somewhat pig-headed at times,” he added with a quirk of a smile. “I’ll leave you to rest now. I’ll check in with you in the morning, but feel free to call me any time, day or night, okay?” Brad handed Tony his business card. “Any questions or concerns?”

 

Tony only had one question. “Okay, Doc, so now you know I’m fine, how soon can I get out of here?”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

 

As Gibbs had predicted, McGee turned up at the hospital around six the night before, along with Dorneget, Ducky and Ellie. They joined Abby and Palmer, who had been hanging around for hours, waiting for the chance to see him. When Gibbs emerged from the VIP wing after visiting Tony, it was to be jumped six well-meaning people who were there to take him home.

 

All seven of them packed into a passenger van that McGee had acquired from the NCIS vehicle pool. In less than an hour they arrived at Kelly Brook Farm, where they were met by Ducky. “I’m fine, Ducky,” Gibbs said tiredly, wishing they’d all just go away. Ducky asked some questions about the injury, but otherwise left Jethro alone.

 

Dornie and Ellie cooked up a meal for everybody, but Jethro was too tired to do it justice. Although they all tried to be helpful, it got to the point where Gibbs had to tell them all to go home. It was decided that Abby and Palmer would stay, though Jethro had little say in the matter. Abby had made sure he was comfortable in bed, and kissed him good night. Palmer gave him the prescribed dose of painkillers and, Jethro later found out, checked on him at regular intervals throughout the night.

 

The next morning they found Jethro mucking out the stalls one-handed. Abby lost her temper and gave him a lecture, saying there was no shame in asking for help. She then gave Gibbs a big hug, and as soon as they let the horses out into the paddock, she started cleaning out the stalls as if it were the best job in the world, and when BigBoy pooped in his water bucket, she exclaimed, “Isn’t he funny?”

 

Standing to one side twiddling his thumbs was frustrating for Gibbs, but the way his arm was trussed up, and with Abby now in charge, he had little choice but to take it easy. Both Abby and Palmer knew their way around horses, so apart from Abby’s early morning chatter getting on Jethro’s nerves, everything went smoothly.

 

Palmer volunteered to drive Jethro to his appointment with the FBI, because even if Jethro insisted he could drive to DC with one working arm, his truck had still not been repaired. “Dr. Mallard left his Bentley here for us to use,” Palmer said with an eager smile. “It’s a shame his Morgan finally succumbed to termites and he had to put her down. It was a sad day, indeed.” Apparently McGee had driven Ducky home in the van, along with the others, last night.

 

“I think my truck’s got a few years in her yet,” Jethro replied, thinking he should get on with the repairs to his only mode of transportation.

 

Seeing what Jethro was about to do, Abby volunteered to fix the truck, since the mechanic had left the parts they needed in the garage. “I was ten when I stripped down Uncle Larry’s ’57 Chevy. I think I can handle your F-250,” she said, rolling her eyes.

 

“Don’t you people have to go to work?” Gibbs demanded.

 

“Director Vance gave us both the day off,” Abby said, beaming as she waved goodbye, and headed for the shed where Gibbs kept his truck. “You relax, Gibbs, and let us do this for you.”

 

Jethro gave in, grumbling as he eased himself into Ducky’s Bentley. “You need me to navigate?” he asked Palmer.

 

“No thanks. I’ve got it. I even took a class in GPS navigation,” Palmer said proudly.

 

Palmer drove way too slowly for Gibbs’ liking, but his boast about knowing all about GPS proved to be true, so Gibbs not only arrived at the FBI headquarters without incident, but he was also on time.

 

On the journey to DC, Gibbs zoned out Palmer’s chatter, and instead thought about Tony. The truth was that he had thought of little _but_ Tony since he’d left Tony’s hospital room the night before. Gibbs didn’t know what to make of his…well, his interest in the congressman. Initially, Gibbs had wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery of his uninvited guest, who’d appeared during what had to be the worst storm Prince George’s County had ever seen, but that wasn’t all of it. He had also felt protective towards Tony, and had wanted to get his hands on the kidnapper so he could tear him apart. Later on, when Beals had intruded in his home, and had laid his hands on Tony, had _hurt_ him…Well, the white-hot anger Jethro had felt coursing through him could only be called murderous.

 

Gibbs had liked Tony pretty much from the start, and had admired the young man’s inner strength that shone brightly despite everything he’d gone through. He admired Tony’s bravery and openness. Tony had been candid with him, which apparently was not the norm. Gibbs had soon discovered that the Congressman had two quite different faces, the public and the private one. Now that was something that Gibbs knew about through personal experience. He’d learned over the years to keep his emotions dampened, not to let criminals or their victims see what he was feeling. It was the best defense against ex-wives, too, because nothing good ever came of letting his emotions loose, or from exposing himself and allowing any vulnerability to show. If you showed one iota of weakness to those women, they immediately pounced upon it.

 

Gibbs expected that he had felt a bond with Tony once he’d learned had been a cop before he’d turned to politics. Tony had also run his own threat assessment company and had expressed his desire to get back into that line of work. Most law enforcement officers, no matter what their branch, felt a brotherhood with each other. Hell, he liked the guy, but if Gibbs was truthful with himself, he’d have to admit that there was more to it than one man helping out another in a time of need. A lot more. There was no denying that he found Tony to be damned attractive, even when he was banged up and wearing nothing but a towel.

 

Right from the start, there had been something more to this affinity he’d felt for Tony, beyond simple attraction. Exactly what that something more was, remained rather elusive.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Gibbs had written up hundreds of case reports over the years, and he had taken a thousand statements, yet being interviewed by Agent Fornell about his part in the Congressman DiNozzo kidnapping case was not easy.

 

After Palmer dropped him off at FBI headquarters, Gibbs got his clearance and was escorted up to Agent Fornell’s office. Gibbs wrote his statement by hand, and Fornell also conducted an interview, which was recorded. It was like being interrogated, although with plenty of coffee at hand. Gibbs told the facts about what had occurred the night that Congressman DiNozzo had appeared at his door, asking for shelter from the storm. He kept it brief and impersonal, and gave a detailed account of his encounter with Frank Beals, and the man’s subsequent death.

 

Afterwards, Fornell offered him lunch, but Gibbs said thanks, but no thanks, though he did accept an agent and a car to drive him home instead of making Palmer do the trip out to Bowie again. Once they were in the car, he asked the agent, a young man by the name of Ruttiger, to stop at the hospital, so he could check on Tony’s progress. Actually, Gibbs ordered the man to pull over, and got out before the parking brake had even been set.

 

When heading for the VIP wing, Gibbs encountered Dr. Mason. The doctor was on his way to see a patient, but he stopped when he recognized Gibbs. “Back already?” the doctor asked with a smile.

 

“I’m here to see Congressman DiNozzo,” Gibbs explained.

 

The doctor’s face fell. “Oh, I’m sorry, but he…”

 

Fear made Gibbs’ heart go cold. Tony, something had happened to him…

 

Dr. Mason reached out and touched Gibbs’ arm. “No, it’s all right. The Congressman is fine, or he was when he left, about an hour ago,” he assured Gibbs. From the doctor’s displeased look, Gibbs knew that Tony had been released earlier than was medically sound. When Gibbs asked where the Congressman had gone, thinking Tony would have gone to his Baltimore condo, Dr. Mason said, “His wife picked him up. They were being escorted by a team of FBI agents, to the DiNozzo home, I gather. I heard them say Roland Park.”

 

That was where Tony’s wife lived, with their son. A nice big house with a picket fence. The perfect place for the Congressman and his family to reside. Perfect wife, cute kid, PTA meetings and soccer practice, with a nice family dinner together every Friday night.

 

Hadn’t Tony said their divorce was pending? _"We filed a few weeks ago. We'll be tied to each other for a few more months."_

 

Gibbs absently thanked the doctor and made his way back to the hospital entrance. Agent Ruttiger was waiting for him at the curb. Once Gibbs was settled in the passenger seat, Ruttiger said, “Agent Fornell told me to take you wherever you want to go. Sir?”

 

“Take me home,” Gibbs said. “To Kelly Brook Farm.”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

There was a knock on the bathroom door. Tony quickly wrapped a towel around his waist and opened it.

 

Wendy stood there, looking down at a pile of clothing in her arms. “There's still a box of some of your stuff down in the basement. I thought I’d thrown them out.”

 

For a moment Tony had a sense of déjà vu. Instead of his dark-haired, soon-to-be ex-wife, Tony pictured Jethro Gibbs offering him a change of clothing after he'd helped him, shivering and afraid, to undress and get into a hot shower.

 

Wendy’s voice brought Tony out of his fog. "Tony, you need to get dressed if you want dinner with us,” she said sharply. Her eyes traveled from Tony's face to his neck, and down his torso. Her hand rose to cover her mouth, a look of shock in her eyes. "Oh my God, I didn't…"

 

Tony covered his chest with his arms, but it was a futile gesture, doing little to hide the smattering of bruises on his ribs and chest, mostly dark plum, but some already turning a sickly yellow-green. There was no way he could conceal the bruises on his jaw or his neck; he knew from experience they'd look a lot worse over the next week or so. He joked, "I've been on the Kidnapper's Diet for the past week, followed by a course of yummy IV fluids, so I’ve lost that spare tire you kept telling me to get rid of. And it only cost me a couple of million in ransom money! You should recommend it to all your friends. Of course, the side-effects include getting beaten up and freezing your ass off when you make your escape…"

 

"Tony, stop! What happened to your shoulder? Stop fidgeting and let me look at it." One thing about Wendy, she recovered quickly and became Ms. Practical. After placing the clean clothes next to the sink, she gave Tony another once-over, though this time her expression was a lot more clinical when she inspected his many bruises and abrasions, including his wrists, where the zip-ties had cut deep. "You didn’t tell me it was this bad," she accused.

 

“No,” Tony said tiredly. “No, I didn’t.”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

By the time Wendy had arrived at the hospital, he had been dressed in the sweats that Lydia had brought him. Tony had made sure that jacket he was wearing was zipped up to his chin. He didn’t want Wendy to see what Beals had done to him, didn’t want her to know how vulnerable he’d been. Apart from a black eye and a couple of minor bruises on his face, there was no hint as to the broad spectrum of bruises across his body.

 

Dr. Pitt had signed the release papers mid-morning, and only because Tony’s temperature was back to normal, and he was only occasionally coughing.

 

“Nothing short of a miracle,” Pitt had said, before giving Tony a lecture about taking care of himself. “I know that right now you’re feeling positive about getting out of here, and you want to get back to your normal activities, but you’ve been through a traumatic event, Tony.”

 

“I’m fine,” he’d replied, rolling his eyes.

 

“Maybe so, but I can pretty much guarantee that sometimes in the next few days, this whole thing is going to hit you pretty hard,” Pitt had warned. “After any traumatic event, the survivor needs a safe and supportive environment to recuperate in. I’d recommend counseling, too. I know, I know…that’s a dirty word. Just the same, let me know if you have trouble sleeping or eating, or have negative changes in your mood–”

 

“Thank you, but I already know all the symptoms,” Tony had said, realizing a second later that he’d raised his voice. “I’m not angry…I’m just tired,” he had acknowledged.

 

Under duress, Tony had agreed to call Brad if he had any issues at all. He’d taken the doctor’s card and stuck in his jacket pocket; he had a follow-up appointment with Pitt on the following Tuesday.

 

Right after Dr. Pitt left, Agent Fornell had arrived, and Tony had figured it was as good a time as any to get his statement out of the way. Once Tony had started writing his version of the events, from the time he’d been kidnapped to the arrival of the police at Jethro’s farm, his police report-writing experience had kicked in. He was able to write a decent report by keeping it as succinct as possible.

 

Fornell had looked it over and had seemed suitably impressed. After asking Tony to clarify a few points, and jotting some notes in the margins, Fornell said he would be in contact with him as soon as he had anything.

 

“Like finding my money?” Tony had asked.

 

“At the top of my list, Congressman,” Fornell had said in parting.

 

Soon after that, Wendy had turned up, with an FBI agent on her heels. As soon as she had set eyes on Tony, who had been sitting on the bed, she said briskly, “Good, you’re dressed. You’ve been released so we can go.” She had looked him over, and had frowned at the sight of his black eye. “They said you were ready to leave,” Wendy had said dubiously.

 

“They can’t wait to get rid of me,” Tony had joked, while winking at the nurse who pushed a wheelchair up to the bed.

 

Once they were in the car, with an FBI agent driving, Wendy had agreed that Tony could stay at her house until the next day. “I’m taking Zachary to my parents’ place tomorrow. He has the week off from school,” she’d said, as they were driven to her house. “It’s ridiculous, sending an agent along with me, as some sort of bodyguard. I can’t imagine where he’s going to stay, and my parents are going to have a fit over the whole thing. At least I’m able to take some of my work with me,” she’d said, casting a resentful look at Tony.

 

Glad he wasn’t accompanying Wendy to her parents’ place, Tony had pretended to sleep for the rest of the journey.

 

Wendy had put Tony in the guest room, which was fine by him. He would never have been able to sleep if the pain meds he took hadn’t made him so drowsy. He’d slept all day, somewhat restlessly, until Wendy had knocked on the door around five, to tell him dinner would be on the table in an hour.

 

“Where’s Zack?” Tony had asked groggily. The room was dark and the clock on the nightstand said 5:00 PM.

 

“He’s doing homework until dinnertime, a book report he should have handed in this morning. The teacher gave him until tomorrow to hand it in, considering…everything,” Wendy had said, casting a look over her shoulder. “He’s down in the rec room. I haven’t told him you’re here yet. I don’t want a fuss.”

 

Tony had nodded, not really understanding. “I really need a shower. You got any clothes for me? These ones smell like hospital,” he’d said, sniffing at the sweats Lydia had brought him from his condo.

 

Wendy had gone to find him something to wear.

 

Getting up had been difficult, as Tony had felt like crap and everything had ached, but the hot water had done wonders.

 

He was looking forward to seeing his son for the first time since he’d been kidnapped. He still didn’t know what Wendy had told Zack about what had happened to his father. It was funny, but for a woman who wrote news stories for a living, she tended to keep current events out of the house; no news tv and no newspaper. Of course, Zack was only ten, and although he had a general idea of what was going on in the world, he was more interested in movies and video games.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Tony craned his neck to check out the wound on his shoulder, where Jethro had extracted a big splinter. They’d taken care of it at the hospital, even though the nurse had said that Jethro had done a fine field dressing. The bandage must have come off in the shower. “Guess I need the first-aid kit.” Flushing under Wendy's scrutiny, Tony made light of the damage. "''Tis but a scratch.'" Then in a higher voice he said, "A scratch? Your arm's off!'" Back to the first voice, he replied, "'No it isn't.'"

 

Wendy's expression hardened. "How can you joke about this? About what that _animal_ did to you? Those marks are from a fist, Tony! And your ribs and your neck–"

 

Tony blurted, "I know damned well what the crazy man did. I was there, remember?" He picked up the sweats he’d worn from the hospital and tossed them in a hamper. The smell of antiseptic made him feel nauseous. “Just…drop it, okay?” he requested, turning away.

 

“What else did he do to you?” Wendy asked, somehow making it sound as if whatever had occurred was all Tony’s fault.

 

Tony could hear his father’s angry voice as if it were yesterday. _“What have you done now, Junior?”_

 

Tony took a deep breath, draped another towel around his shoulders, and turned to smile at Wendy. There was no way she was going to let this go, and he’d already had enough curiosity about what had really happened, from his own friends.

 

Early that morning, when Lydia had come by the hospital with Tony’s clothes, she had been accompanied by two of Tony’s friends. One was his fellow congressman, John Rodriguez of the 1st District, and the other was Senator Van Buren, from New York, who’d come up from DC when he’d heard Tony was in the hospital.

 

The two men had done their best to avoid looking at his bruises, but it had been a bit awkward. Tony had taken pains to put them at ease. Lydia had burst into tears as soon as she’d seen him, but after a hug and some good-natured ribbing, Tony had had her smiling again. Even though these people truly cared about him, it had been obvious that they were wondering exactly what he'd been through. He had seen a bit of guilt in their eyes, because it had been obvious that they were glad it hadn't happened to them. It was human nature, a survival instinct, but even knowing that didn’t make Tony feel any better.

 

With Wendy scowling at him across the bathroom, Tony tried to lighten the mood by doing what he often did – he started taking about a scene in a movie that seemed to fit the situation. "You remember the couple who kidnapped Bette Midler on the phone, making demands to her husband? The kidnapper is pressing a spatula down hard on a burger making it sizzle while he demands a bigger ransom, and Midler’s screaming in the background, and her husband doesn’t give a–"

 

"Tony!" Wendy protested. “The FBI advised against paying the ransom, but you know your father was trying to raise the money.”

 

"C'mon, you loved _Ruthless People_ ," Tony cajoled. “Besides, I had kidnapping insurance.”

 

"You what? Why didn’t you ever tell me?” she demanded, her hands on her hips.

 

“It isn’t the kind of thing you advertise,” Tony pointed out. “The likelihood of being held for ransom in the United States is statistically quite low, compared to Mexico or India…or being kidnapped by Somali pirates.” Despite his throat becoming increasingly sore, Tony continued, “Did you know that the pirates have to ask for $2 million ransom just to break even, because each crewmember demands $75,000 in pay. Plus…now get this…the pirate who brings his own ladder to board the ship gets an extra $10,000 in bonus money.” His voice was fading towards the end of his speech. The medication they’d given him before he’d left the hospital, to ease the pain in his throat, was wearing off. He’d been warned not to exert his voice for several days. It was a bit late for that. The way his luck was going, he’d have no voice by tomorrow.

 

Tony’s office and his attorney had had his instructions about what to do should he ever be abducted, and they’d followed them to the letter. Ransom money was obtained from the bank, and it was delivered according to the kidnapper’s instructions. Technically, Tony should have been released upon payment – although there was a 60% chance that a kidnapper would kill his victim anyway – only it had turned out that Tony’s abductor was a nutcase who had apparently planned to kill him right from the start. Currently the insurance company’s two million was out there somewhere, with the FBI still looking for it.

 

“You purposely kept me, and your father, out of the loop, Tony,” Wendy criticized. “And they said that you were taken from directly outside your condo, which only confirms what I told you, that it was a dangerous neighborhood. You never take any precautions and–“

 

Tony shrugged and cut her off. “You’re right. I brought this on myself. Just be happy you didn’t have to sell of this house to pay for my safe return.” Before Wendy could reply, Tony quoted his favorite sci-fi, _Firefly_. “‘Dear diary: Today we were kidnapped by hill folk, never to be seen again. It was the best day ever.’”

 

Wendy’s cheeks were turning red. “You can’t make it all go away by pretending that life is a movie, Tony!”

 

Tony put on a shocked expression. “I _can’t_?”

 

“You’ll never change," she accused.

 

"I’m sorry to remind you, I’ve told you so, lots of times," Tony retorted, a little sadly. "You shoulda believed me, honey." He pulled a soft, long-sleeved T-shirt over his head, wincing. “You, on the other hand, have changed. It’s pretty sad, isn’t it, that you don’t know me at all, and yet I know you too well.”

 

For a moment he thought his wife was going to slap him, but she didn't. It was a close call.

 

"Your father and I both feel that you need to re-think your position," Wendy said, her voice hard.

 

Ah, now that the kidnapping was out of the way, his wife was thinking about what she referred to as ‘your ridiculous idea to leave politics and go back to that company you started.’ Tony huffed out a breath of air. “It’s none of my father’s business, as I have told him on more than one occasion.”

 

“I’ve been talking to him and–”

 

"You and Dad have been plotting, putting your heads together? I think I should be scared." He really shouldn't have been surprised. His father had always had a soft spot for Wendy, and she wasn’t above recruiting Dad if she thought it would help get her what she wanted.

 

Tony was curious about what Senior had said when Agent Fornell questioned him about his connection to Marian Tozier. And why had the man who had kidnapped Tony placed a phone call to Senior in the first place? Tony didn’t believe his father had anything to do with Frank Beals, although the deranged son-of-a-bitch may have tried to extricate an additional ransom from Senior. His father could explain his way out of anything, and Tony wished Fornell luck in getting anything useful out of him. Being unable to do any investigating himself was frustrating, and he had to put his trust in the FBI’s skills.

 

Tony made a motion for Wendy to turn around so he could pull the sweatpants on. Wendy rolled her eyes. It wasn’t his junk he was trying to hide from her – although she no longer had any right to see him naked – but the dark purple bruises on his hips and thighs. She had already seen enough. “Okay, decent now,” Tony said. He coughed a few times, hoping to clear his throat, but the tickle in it just wasn’t going away.

 

Wendy collected herself and said, in a pleasant tone that sounded slightly forced, "Senior believes in you, Tony. You know he always wants the best for you. He's spent time and money paving the way for you–" Tony waved a dismissive hand, but all that did was fire Wendy up again. "No, you listen to me. This is your chance to go places, to do good things, Tony. You're a shoo-in for another term, and at the end of it, you'll be in a perfect position to run for the Senate. Your father has been working very hard to set this up; he knows all the right people, the ones with influence. Look, I know that this kidnapping was a horrible, truly awful experience, but if any good is to come of it, now everyone in the country knows your face, and your Q Factor is 25, which is higher than its ever been.”

 

“My what?” Tony asked, bemused.

 

Wendy continued, sounding like a politician giving a rousing speech, “This is the best time to step up and let people know you’re not going anywhere, that this whole thing has made you stronger. You need to strike when the iron is hot, and make it known you have your eye on the White House and–”

 

"Are you kidding me?” Tony exclaimed, his voice cracking. "Is this what you two have been…” Tony shook his head and half-turned away, not wanting to even look at his wife. “No. I told you before, I'm seeing out this term, but that's it. I'm already in negotiations to buy back into SafeZone, and then–"

 

Wendy grabbed his arm. "You're a fool to give all this up just because you'd rather work with that Parker Prentice. And you’ll be traveling so much, you won’t have any time for Zack. I don’t see why you want to go backwards, why you’d give up a career that people would kill for."

 

Trying to keep the lid sealed on his growing anger, and knowing his son had probably heard their raised voices by now, Tony gritted his teeth and said quietly, "First of all, Zack always comes first, so don’t you ever say otherwise. Secondly, SafeZone was _my_ company, and I worked damned hard to get it off the ground.” Wendy’s fingers were biting into his forearm, close to his injured wrist, so he carefully removed her hand.

 

"But you could be somebody _important_ , Tony."

 

Tony snorted. “You know how I feel about this. I believe I can do more good on the outside. I want to help people, be out in the field, not spending all my energy sparring with politicians who seem to have lost sight of why they’re there in the first place. Look, I…” The tickle in his throat caused him to cough, and the coughing jag that followed left Tony gasping for breath. Damn it, he had to hold back his temper; every time he raised his voice he started coughing. “I’m not…talking…about this,” he managed to get out. Tony moved past Wendy, walked into the guest bedroom and sat down to pull on his socks.

 

Wendy followed him. She didn’t know when to leave something alone.

 

Tony knew it was his father's expectation that he remain in politics, and to consider making a bid for the Presidency, but for once, he wasn’t going to let his father dictate his career. No longer was he going to take the easy road and let the old man coerce him into doing ‘what was right.’ It was time for him to move on, Tony knew, and at the end of the year he'd say his goodbyes to his staff and the people in his district, and it would be without any regrets. Far from it; he'd done a good job, had accomplished things he was proud of, had made a difference in many people’s lives. Crime and poverty weren’t going away overnight, but he’d put some building blocks in place that should set Baltimore on the right road. Tony was confident that the changes he’d brought about would have a long-lasting, positive effect on his district, as well as on the city and state.

 

While Wendy continued arguing her case, Tony rummaged in the bag of medications that had been sent home with him, and found some throat lozenges. He popped one in his mouth, while Wendy said, "You know that both Senior and I believe you go could go all the way to the top, Tony, if only you'd put aside your silly dreams. Parker is a bad influence on you, not to mention he's taken up drinking heavily again, _and_ he's a womanizer. All that money you plan to sink into the company should be going towards your campaign, not towards a company that focuses on security in other countries. I don't understand you…"

 

That much Tony knew. He spoke around the lemon-flavored lozenge that was already doing a good job at soothing his throat. "Well, you know what? I just happen to believe in SafeZone, and it's important to me. Besides, I don't see why you care whether I'm working in politics or in corporate security. Why do you even care what I do when we're going to be divorced in a few months? You have already revoked any right to have a say in my life."

 

For a moment, Wendy looked taken aback, but she collected herself, and said, "I will always care about you, and what you’re doing with your career, Tony, and…well, I wasn’t going to say this, but your dad is very worried about you."

 

“Yeah, right,” Tony muttered as he pulled on a pair of boat shoes that had seen better days. "If you’re worrying about money, don’t. The company's doing better than ever, Parker says. He's backlogged with work." Tony still had to play out his term as his district's representative, but he had already had some long conversations with Parker about SafeZone, and their plans for expansion. As far as Wendy’s accusations about Parker drinking and being a womanizer, hell, the guy had always been a drinker and he liked the ladies. So what? He was a hard worker and always lived life to the fullest, which was one of the reasons why he and Tony had always gotten along so well. “You don’t have to worry about alimony,” Tony said.

 

Wendy seemed affronted. "Of course that's not it. It's just that…well, your dad and I are worried about your health, of course, and after this…this kidnapping and the trauma you’ve been through, we…we think you may need some guidance to keep you on the right track. Your father has engaged the services of a top Washington PR firm and…they believe that it would be to your benefit if…perhaps…we should re-think about our decision to get divorced. See, I think it would be for the best if we remain married. Don’t you agree, Tony?"

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

 

Immediately Tony stood and said, "No."

 

Wendy protested, "But Tony…"

 

He shook his head in disbelief. After everything Wendy had said and done, after everything she had put him through? "No! You cannot be serious."

 

"Tony? Let’s be sensible about this. Why not stay married? I know it won't be easy, and we have certain trust issues, but I'm certain we can act like adults and…It's not like we have to live together 24/7. I'm working here, and you're in DC a lot.”

 

“ _We_ have trust issues? I’m not the one who forgot our wedding vows, Wendy! I’m not the one who…” Tony backed away, hands raised. “You know what? I’m not doing this. I’m not.”

 

“But Tony…think of Zachary."

 

"Do _not_ use Zack as a bargaining tool. Do _not_! I think of my son all the time, of his safety and welfare. All I want is for him to be happy."

 

Spitefully, Wendy said, "You think he cares about a dad who's hardly ever here? He’ll forget you and–"

 

"You know damned well I spend every free moment I have with my boy," Tony retorted angrily. He coughed a couple of times, but he kept on talking. This had to be dealt with now. "I know exactly what it feels like to have a father who's absent, or abandons him because something more important comes up, or who just doesn't care. I _know_ , and I will _never_ make my son feel like that.” Tony grabbed Wendy’s arm and said in a low, dangerous tone, “And if I catch you ever saying anything negative about me to him…"

 

Wendy stared at Tony with wide eyes for a long moment, then she shook him off and glared at him. "Is that a threat?"

 

"You know what? It is. Yes, it is. So I advise you to take it seriously," Tony said, his voice getting more hoarse every time he opened his mouth. "I'm going downstairs to have dinner with my son, and I would prefer it if you’re not there," he said, making it clear he was finished with the conversation.

 

It took Wendy a moment to respond, but when she did so, her voice was a little strained. "I’m going to the office to pick up work to take with me. You can have him to yourself. There’s a pizza…Just make sure you cover up all those bruises. I don't want Zachary to see…what _that man_ did to you." Wendy started to leave but stopped in the doorway. “You be careful what you say to him, Tony. I don’t want my son to know what happened to you. I’ve done my best to shield him from everything, but children talk and he knows something’s wrong. You make sure this is all done with by the time we get back from my parents’ next weekend.”

 

Tony held his tongue as Wendy walked out, closing the door firmly behind her. As soon as she was gone, he let out a tired sigh. Every time he came by the house, even if it was only for a few minutes, to pick up Zack, she managed to get in a few digs. It seemed as though she couldn't resist yanking his chain, and was only satisfied when she made him angry. Tony tried not to fight back, but even after all this time, he was not inured to her barbs.

 

Tony sighed and ran a hand over his mouth. He wasn’t feeling too good. All he wanted to do was fall back into bed, but he needed to see his son, spend some time with him. Besides, he really needed to eat something before he took his next round of medications.

 

It was hard to believe that once upon a time they'd loved each other, he and Wendy. They had planned out their life together, had brought a child into this world, had stuck together for twelve years. It was even harder to believe, considering everything they'd meant to each other, that she would ruin it by having an affair with her boss. Even after he’d found out about it, Tony had tried to hold their marriage together, but things between them had gone from bad to worse when he’d discovered that after he’d taken her back, she’d seen her lover again. There had been recriminations, tears and promises, and more promises, and at the end of the day he’d taken her back.

 

That was two years ago, and since then Tony had done his best to act the part of a good husband, at least to the outside world. But over time, he’d come to realize that their sham marriage wouldn’t work, and that the pretense was making them hate each other, a bit more with every passing week. He had finally had enough, and told Wendy he was filing for divorce. It would become final at the end of the year, just as his term in Congress was up.

 

She had fought him on it, had called in his father, thinking that Senior would be able to influence him into changing his mind. But not even Senior’s subtle bullying overlaid with guilt-trip tactics had been able to sway Tony. He was done, and he had told them so.

 

Once again, Tony sighed. No point in crying over it any more. Whatever they'd had together, it was over, and any semblance of affection or loyalty was long-since gone. As Tony walked down to the kitchen, he thought only good thoughts, about his son, and how much he'd grown lately, how he was showing an interest in earth science, how he was doing well in soccer and pole-vaulting, and how, when Tony had looked in on his sleeping son the last time he’d seen him, he'd smiled at the copy of _Robinson Crusoe_ lying next to him on the bed.

 

In a couple of weeks, Tony would be spending a long weekend with his son. They would plan something special to do together. "Just us guys," Tony had said, when they had talked, unbelievably happy to see his son's eyes light up in anticipation of having alone-time with his dad.

 

It struck Tony that Wendy had not even asked him how he was feeling, even though she had exclaimed over his injuries. Whatever he’d once felt for her was now gone, not an inkling of affection remaining, and despite him being angry when they’d been talking, now he felt nothing but sadness at the whole situation. Mostly, he was sad for his son, who had yet to be told, who would go through stages of distress and resentment, and who might even hate his parents for divorcing each other. Tony knew what it felt like to be abandoned by a parent, and even though his young mind had understood that it wasn’t his mother’s fault that she got sick and went to live with the angels, he’d been consumed by grief because she hadn’t loved him enough to stay behind.

 

Tony took a breath, put on a pleasant expression, and walked into the kitchen. Zack was sitting at the table with an open pizza box in front of him.

 

Zack looked up, his blue eyes lighting up. “Dad!” He was out of his chair and in his dad’s arms before Tony could even say hello.

 

There was an elbow digging in his stomach, and small arms pulling on his bruised neck, but Tony didn’t care a hang. Hell, he’d put up with any amount of pain if it meant he’d get such an all-out, loving embrace from his boy.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

“Mom’s gone to work,” Zack told his father as soon as he released him. “We’ve got cheese and pepperoni!”

 

That was fine by Tony, both having a pizza for dinner, and Wendy leaving them alone. “Great, that means you’re in charge,” Tony said to his son.

 

Unfortunately, the minute they sat opposite each other at the table, the boy took in his father’s bruises. Tony knew that his black eye looked pretty bad, but there was no good way to explain how he got it to a ten-year-old. “You know, in the movies, when a boxer gets a black eye in the ring, he puts a raw steak on his eye, to help it heal.”

 

Zack’s eyes went to the fridge. “Do we have steak?”

 

Tony chuckled. “No, and I wouldn’t waste one on my eye anyway. It’s the cold that makes it feel better, like an ice pack. Remember when you bashed your fingers between the shopping carts and the lady at the fish counter gave you a baggie full of ice? It made your fingers feel better, right?”

 

Zack immediately jumped up and went to the fridge. “I can get you an ice pack, Dad.”

 

Tony watched his son dump some ice cubes in a baggie, and twist a tie around it. “Tie it tight so the water doesn’t spill out when the ice melts,” Tony suggested, letting Zack do it himself. Tony took the bag of ice and held it to his eye. He made sure to thank Zack, and smiled to let him know it felt better.

 

They ate a slice of pizza each, but Tony could see the worry creeping back into his son’s eyes.

 

“Did you go boxing?” Zack asked, eyeing the bruises on Tony’s neck.

 

“No, although your old man has been known to do a round or two in the ring. Not this time, though.” Tony carefully chose his words. The truth was hard to speak, but he managed not to mess it up too badly. “Daddy got hurt by a bad man,” he said, hating that Zack was looking at him with wide, fearful eyes. “But a good guy helped me out, took me into his own home, and saved me.”

 

“Was the good guy a cop?” Zack knew all about Tony’s days as a police detective, and Tony had taken him to an open house at the local stationhouse, so he thought of cops as the good guys.

 

“Yeah, Jethro’s a good guy.”

 

“His name is Jethro? Jethro Bodine?”

 

Tony laughed a little. “No, not the _Hillbillies_ , though this Jethro does live on a farm. He takes care of horses who don’t have any homes.”

 

Zack remembered they were talking about a bad guy, and that scared expression came back. “Is he coming here?”

 

For a second, Tony thought his son meant Jethro. “Oh, no. No, nobody is coming here. See, Jethro took care of the bad guy, and he won’t be going anywhere.” Tony was sweating, not sure how much of this Zack was understanding. He held the ice pack to his eye for a bit, and then put it aside with a sigh.

 

The boy watched him for a bit, then asked, “Is the bad guy in jail?”

 

Tony cleared his throat. Of course vague explanations weren’t going to be enough; Zack wanted to know more details. “Yeah, he’s in jail. He won’t ever be getting out. So I want you to remember that Dad and Mom love you very much, and we’re here to protect you, okay?”

 

“Grandpa Tony, too?”

 

“Yes, Grandpa Tony will protect you, too, although he doesn’t like being called Grandpa.” Tony took another slice and pushed the box closer to Zack. “More?”

 

Zack bit into his pizza and as soon as he swallowed his mouthful, he smiled. “Grandpa wanted me to call him Tony, but I told him my dad’s the only Tony.”

 

“I’ll bet that went over well,” Tony muttered under his breath. He wiped his mouth and then handed his son a few paper napkins. After they’d both cleaned up, Tony suggested, “How about we go watch a movie?” Thank God the conversation was over, he thought.

 

Zack hopped out of his chair and stood right in front of Tony, crowding him so he couldn’t get to his feet. “Dad?”

 

Tony ran a hand over his son’s back, thinking how close he’d come to never seeing Zack again, and it almost brought him to tears. “Yeah?”

 

It took Zack a moment to figure out what he wanted to say, and Tony waited patiently. “Dad? Why’s your voice funny?”

 

Touching his throat, Tony swallowed. “It’ll be as good as new real soon.” He couldn’t tell his kid that a mentally ill man had had him in a chokehold, and would have killed him if Jethro hadn’t stepped in.

 

Zack reached out, frowning, and gently touched his father’s neck. “Does it hurt?” he asked in a small voice.

 

Tony smiled. “No, it is just a flesh wound,” he said in a British accent.

 

Zack pulled a face. “Mom says you deflect when you’re nervous, by talking about movies and doing dialog.”

 

That floored Tony. Was he that obvious? “Oh. Well, yeah, guess Mom’s right. It lightens the mood. Sometimes I can’t figure out what to say, and so I pick a line out of a movie, or talk about a plot or–”

 

“You don’t have to do that with me, Dad.”

 

“I don’t?”

 

Zack shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t like talking movies with you, Dad, but maybe sometimes we can just talk, about real things and not movies. I’m not a little kid any more, you know.”

 

Tony took Zack’s small hand in his own. “Wow, I guess you’re not. I’m sorry if I…uh…deflected. I’ll try not to do that any more, but if I do, I’ll need you to remind me about it, okay?”

 

Zack nodded solemnly. “I know you do it because you love me, and you don’t want me to know some things, because you don’t want me to get hurt. But I’m not stupid, and…and I’ve heard you and Mom talking. You’re loud.”

 

Tony’s heart sank. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. We never want to say mean things to each other, but sometimes…”

 

“Dad, are you and Mom getting a divorce?”

 

For once in his life, Tony was rendered mute. His kid, his ten-year-old kid, was calmly asking I his parents were splitting up. Did Zack even know what a divorce meant, what it really entailed? How could he explain it to the boy when he was having trouble understanding it all himself? “Son…” Tony’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t get out any more words.

 

Of all things, Zack smiled. “It’s okay, Dad. Not that you’re getting a divorce, but that you don’t know what to say. I know about it, what it means.”

 

Was the kid a mind reader or something? “You do?”

 

“Grandpa Tony, he’s been married twice and divorced twice that I remember, and you’ve said he’s been married lots of times, so I guess that means lots of divorces. He gets really sad whenever anyone talks about being married, and he drinks a lot, even though he covers it up by chewing on Menthos.” Zack shrugged. “Then he gets back on the horse.”

 

“The horse?”

 

“Sure, like when you’ve been thrown, you’re supposed to not be afraid, and you try again. Like in _Alice in Wonderland_. “Just be brave, and always get back on your horse.’ Right?” The boy nodded sagely. “He’s pretty good at getting back on the horse. Must be all the experience.”

 

“Oh my God, please do not repeat that to anyone,” Tony pled, hugging Zack to him, and then releasing him so he could look in his eyes. “Look, Zack, just because my father…Grandpa Tony…gets married every couple of years like it’s some kind of Olympic sport, and he’s a gold medalist like Mark Spitz, and have you ever seen him do the butterfly–“

 

“Dad, you’re babbling,” Zack warned.

 

“Okay…okay…” Tony coughed a couple of times and reached for a cough drop.

 

Zack asked, “Who’s Mark Spitz?”

 

“He won lots of gold medals, and is a nine-time Olympic champion in swimming in the ‘70s. Tell you what, son, we’ll have a ‘highlights of the Olympics’ evening real soon, but right now we need to focus.” Tony took a moment before saying, “There are lots of couples who stay together their whole lives. Some of them though, they try really hard but they grow apart…they can’t seem to get along any more…But no matter what happens, or where Mom and Dad live, we will always love you and take care of you. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Tony asked, worried it was going over Zack’s head.

 

Zack nodded slowly. “It’s like with Jeremy. I liked him a lot when I was in second grade. We did everything together. Sports, sleepovers, building a cardboard city for his cat…But when I started third grade, it was like the magic had gone. I didn’t play with Jeremy any more. I played with Albert. We did karate together, and were on the same baseball team, and traded _Lord of the Rings_ action figures.” Zack picked up the large soda cup Tony had refilled with water to take with them down to the rec room. When he had finished drinking, Zack turned to his father and said seriously, “You know, the Power Rangers say that magic is never gone. You just have to know where to look for it. Oh, and to not be afraid of moving on to something new.”

 

Smiling in wonder, Tony asked, “How’d you get to be so smart?”

 

Zack shrugged. “Probably because I’m a DiNozzo. It’s in the genes. C’mon, let’s go watch a movie. I choose! I choose!” He ran from the room, and Tony took a few minutes to clean up their dinner, and to collect himself.

 

Halfway through the 1938 version of _Robin Hood_ , in a scene when Errol Flynn was making what Zack called ‘goo-goo eyes’ at Maid Marian, Zack asked, “Am I going to live here with Mom?” Before Toy could respond, the boy looked up at him and added, “Because I think she’d be really lonely without me, and even though she says she likes to work, she likes being home, too, so long as I’m here.”

 

“Then that sounds like a plan,” Tony replied. “Things will stay pretty much the same. Okay?”

 

“Okay.” After a few minutes of watching Robin Hood sword fighting with Guy of Gisbourne, Zack commented, “I know we’re supposed to hate Gisbourne, but I think he’s cool.”

 

“He’s a great swordsman,” Tony agreed.

 

“But he’s the bad guy,” Zack replied, his eyes glued to the screen.

 

“True, but did you know that that actor, whose name is Basil Rathbone, played Sherlock Holmes in fourteen movies?”

 

After a minute, Zack said, “He’s a good actor then.”

 

“Yes, he is.” Tony kissed the top of his son’s head, noticing how his blond hair was turning darker. His little boy was growing up; it was sort of sad to think about. “I love you, kid.”

 

“Mmm.” Zack cuddled up to his father with a contented sigh, and soon both he and Tony were fast asleep.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Wendy and Zack left for her parents’ place in Pennsylvania early the next morning, and Tony barely had time to kiss his son good-bye before the FBI agents in charge of their safety whisked them away in a big black sedan.

 

Tony gathered his belongings, including a leather jacket that had seen better days, a couple of awards from his days on the force that he’d thought Wendy had thrown away ages ago, his favorite leather shoulder holster that had taken months to break in, and a few other items Wendy had tossed in a corner of the basement. He locked the house behind him and turned to FBI Agent Jerome Brown, who was the primary on his protection detail. “Ready to roll, Agent Brown?”

 

“I will be, once you get in the vehicle, sir.” Brown scanned the peaceful neighborhood, eying a slow-moving Subaru carrying a mother and noisy kids as if it contained the enemy.

 

Tony gave the folks in the passing vehicle a wave. “You worried about something, agent? Ninja assassins, zombie killers, or maybe soccer moms?”

 

“They don’t bother me, except for the soccer moms,” Brown said with a straight face.

 

“How about masked slashers? Killer clowns?”

 

“How about you get in the car, Congressman, and then we can talk about my deepest fears?”

 

“Really?” Tony assented and slipped into the back seat. As soon as they pulled away from the curb, he demanded, “Well?”

 

Brown made a face as if he were thinking hard. “I’d have to say that the scariest things were those silent ghouls on _Buffy_. You know, the ones who stole their victims’ voices… ‘The Gentlemen,’ right?”

 

“That was the episode where they couldn’t scream. It was called _Hush_. A classic, got an Emmy,” Tony agreed with a smile. He covered his mouth to cough, then leaned forward to ask, “So tell me, Agent Brown… Can I call you Jerome? Who do you think is a real killer at heart, Angel or Spike? Is it a case of nurture or nature, do you think?”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

 

He was home, or what constituted as ‘home’ these days – an industrial loft on the waterfront in Baltimore. A young and upcoming local developer had recently completed the renovation of a four-story warehouse near the old power plant, and Tony was one of the first people to purchase a condo on the top floor. It was expensive, but he’d fallen in love with the high ceilings, polished cement floors, and industrial feel of exposed brick, as well as the expansive view of the harbor from the huge window in the open living area. The paint had barely been dry and the kitchen not quite finished when Tony had moved in a few months ago, on the day after he had filed for divorce.

 

Having a large space to call his own had some positive aspects, but there were definite drawbacks as well. Being alone to do whatever he wanted to do, at any time of day or night, was all fine and good, but it was also terribly lonely.

 

It reminded Tony – and not in a good way – of his early days as a cop. Back then, without the support and communal feeling of a college frat house, and not yet knowing anyone on the Peoria police force, Tony had felt very much alone. He had always made friends easily, but they tended to be friends of the casual variety. It took time to get to really know and trust people, and he could count the amount of friends who fit that bill on one hand. When, by chance, Tony had run into Wendy in Baltimore, they had immediately rekindled their friendship. Seeing her familiar face after so many years had given him a warm and fuzzy feeling, and as they were no longer high school student and piano teacher, but two adults, it wasn’t long before they grew much closer.

 

Now, once again, Tony was on his own, although he was so busy with work that he spent little time in his new place. Still, it was a relief not having Wendy breathing down his neck, finding fault with everything he did, and constantly putting pressure on him with regards to his career and political choices.

 

As soon as Agent Brown had ascertained the rooms were clear of any danger, he told Tony, “I’ll be as unobtrusive as possible, Congressman, but I’ll be sticking close to you to ensure your safety. You need anything, call me. I’ll check back in a while, make sure you’re settled in, sir.” The FBI agent put his number on Tony’s speed dial before he left to check out the rest of the building.

 

Tony tossed his bag in a corner with a tired sigh. He made himself a cup of coffee with hazelnut creamer, and unenthusiastically ate most of a bowl of cold Cap’n Crunch. He couldn’t face anything heavier. A big pile of mail had accumulated in the week since he’d been kidnapped, but after sifting through the envelopes, he pushed them aside. He felt like crap, drained, and entirely without motivation. Holding his head, Tony groaned, and muttered aloud, “Get over it, DiNozzo. You’ve got things to do.” First, a shower, and then he’d deal with contacting his office and responding to the backlog of emails that were clogging his inbox.

 

Finally, Tony had the extra long, extra-hot shower he’d been dreaming about for days. It was heaven, and couldn’t help moaning when the hot water cascaded over his tired and battered body. He set the rain shower on the tropical storm setting, and worked up a lather with Kilauea lava soap, taking it easy over the bruised areas. He washed and rinsed, and washed himself again, trying to get rid of dirt that he knew wasn’t really there any longer.

 

Spending time with his son last night had been the best kind of medicine, but now Tony felt very much alone. And tired, too, the bone-deep kind of tired that made him doze while standing in the shower, droplets gently raining down on his weary body. Finally, Tony turned off the water, dried himself with a fluffy towel he’d warmed up on the heated towel rail, and dressed in comfortable sweats and a tee. Sitting on his bed, Tony picked up his phone and checked messages; there were a dozen, but none yet from Agent Fornell, who had promised to call as soon as Wendy and Zack arrived safely at her parents’ home. It would be a while before they got there, so Tony left the phone on mute. For the first time in a week, he was going to be able to sleep in his own comfortable bed. Climbing in, Tony pulled the comforter over his head, and with a big yawn promptly fell asleep.

 

There was a buzzing sound. “Hmmm,” Tony mumbled. It buzzed again. “Whah?” Tony groped for his cell phone without opening his eyes, and brought it to his ear, mumbling, “Yeah?” There was only a dial tone, and still groggy from his much-needed rest, it took him a minute to realize that the buzzing was not emanating from his phone, but from the doorbell. “Oh shit. All right already!” He made his way to the front door, coughing as he went.

 

Agent Jerome Brown was at the door, looking relieved, and then a little annoyed once he had ascertained that Tony was all right. “You should never be unreachable,” Agent Brown lectured.

 

“Is that an FBI rule or something?” asked Tony. He said unapologetically, “I needed sleep.” His throat itched, so he headed into the kitchen to make himself some tea.

 

Brown followed him into the kitchen, but stayed near the doorway. “Actually, I think Fornell picked it up from someone over at NCIS.”

 

The two men came to an agreement that a) Tony would keep his phone close to him and at least check the caller ID; b) he would answer all calls from the FBI; and c) he would give Agent Brown a key to the condo.

 

“You can use the key whenever you get scared and need to check I haven’t been kidnapped again,” Tony said with a smirk, handing over a set of spare keys on a ring.

 

“I wasn’t scared,” Brown retorted with a frown.

 

Tony scoffed, “Yes you were, Je- _rome_. S-s-s-scared. Like a girl.” Jerome snorted and went to check that all the windows were locked, and tested a back door that Tony never used. Tony watched him and said, “Thought you did all that earlier.”

 

“Can’t be too safe,” the agent said, then let Tony know that another agent would relieve him at midnight.

 

“So you can take me to the TV studio,” Tony said. “Oh shoot, I’m due there in less than two hours. I’d better hurry.”

 

“TV studio?” Jerome asked with eyebrows raised.

 

“Yeah, I’m scheduled to appear on _The People’s Word_. It’s a political discussion show. I was booked months ago,” Tony said, trying to cover up a bout of coughing that made an inopportune appearance.

 

“Your doctor cleared you for this appearance?” Jerome asked suspiciously.

 

“C’mon…You think I’d be doing this if my doctor didn’t okay it?” Tony asked. Back in the hospital, Eric Flaherty had tried to talk Tony out of going on the show, pointing out that the producer would surely understand if he postponed it until another time, but Tony felt that he needed to make this appearance. If he didn’t go, if he gave in to the overwhelming desire to crawl into bed and stay there until all memory of his kidnapping experience – all memory of _him_ – faded away, well, that would be like letting _him_ win. And Tony couldn’t allow that.

 

Jerome frowned at Tony, but there was nothing he could do beyond informing his supervisor, Fornell. Tony didn’t stick around to hear the call. It was already four and he had to get dressed for the occasion. It was a toss-up between dark gray suit and blue tie that said ‘serious but not too serious,’ and what he really wanted to wear: pajamas. The suit won, barely.

 

“So,” Tony said, straightening his tie. “Are you going to drive me, or should I get a cab?”

 

“I’ll drive.” Jerome sent a look Tony’s way that clearly said he thought Tony was nuts if he thought he was going to let him out of his sight. “When do you want to leave?”

 

Before Tony could reply, his phone rang. A glance at the caller ID told him it was Fornell. He held up a hand and said to Jerome, “I need to take this. We can go as soon as I’m done.” He turned away and said into the phone, “Fornell, are they safe?”

 

“Both your wife and son arrived safely in Lancaster, Congressman. An agent is going to remain with them until they return,” Fornell assured Tony.

 

“Did her parents get all hot and bothered?” Tony knew how Wendy’s parents could be, polite know-it-alls who could be as stubborn as all get-out. Much like their daughter.

 

“I made sure they knew that the presence of an agent was in the best interest of their daughter and grandchild,” Fornell said, speaking formally.

 

“You put the fear of God into them?” Tony didn’t need to hear Fornell’s chuckle to know how things had gone down. After a pause, Tony said, “Thanks.”

 

“Just doing my job, Congressman.”

 

Tony suggested, “Think you can call me by my name?”

 

“DiNozzo,” said Fornell, using the correct pronunciation.

 

“Got it in one,” Tony replied with a wide smile.

 

“Now for the good news. Or maybe I’d better toss out the bad news first?” Fornell asked.

 

Tony moved into the living room and sat on the couch. It got dark early this time of year, and as he watched a large fishing vessel move slowly into the harbor, its lights came on, red and yellow beams shining across the dull gray water water. “Good news first. I need it.”

 

“We recovered the ransom money, intact. It was buried underneath the old house.”

 

“That’s great! My insurance company’s going to be thrilled,” Tony said, relieved. “And…?”

 

“One of my men crawled under the trailer where you were held, and found Frank Beals’ cell phones.”

 

“Phones?”

 

Fornell confirmed, “Yup. He had several burn phones, all of them used. He may have been paranoid, but maybe not so crazy. He used the phones to take photos of you every day, proof of life. He must have run around town finding different location with free wi-fi for each call he made. Made it very difficult to track him down.”

 

“Okay,” Tony said cautiously. “Now you have the phones, your forensic guys can tell who he called, and when, correct?”

 

“That’s true. Our techs have already pulled the records off the phones, and are just beginning to go through the numbers.”

 

“Beginning to…?”

 

Fornell cleared his throat. “In the week prior to the kidnapping, as well as during the time you were in captivity, Beals made more than thirty phone calls a day. Often more.”

 

“What was he, a serial telemarketer?” Tony scoffed.

 

“A fanatic is more like it. We’re following up on every one of those people and organizations he phoned. However, in the preliminary review, we determined that he’d called a handful of numbers multiple times,” Fornell said, with a hint of reluctance.

 

“Okay…who are all these buddies he called?” Tony wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

 

“He called lots of politicians, as well as every anti-gay, anti-equality supporter and organization in the book. He also called his mother, Marian Tozier, a dozen times, even during the time he was holding you captive.”

 

Had that been who he’d heard Beals talking to outside the trailer? “Was she…did she know what he was up to?”

 

“We brought her in,” Fornell said. “According to Mrs. Tozier, her son, Frank Beals, was difficult to handle. Got ideas in his head that consumed him. He always phoned Mommy when he needed someone to hold his hand. She says he wasn’t specific about what he had got himself into, but she could tell it was bad. Sounded like he was off his medications. The autopsy will tell us more.” Fornell cleared his throat. “Mrs. Tozier also made a point of asking me to give her apologies to Senator DiNozzo and his family for the suffering they incurred.”

 

“Nice of her,” said Tony, not at all sincerely. “I’m telling you, she had a hand in it.”

 

“There’s no evidence of it. Mrs. Tozier says she had no idea that her son was involved in a kidnapping, or any other criminal activity. She said that as far as she can recall, Frank never mentioned you specifically, or indicated that he wanted to harm you.”

 

“You mean kill me,” Tony said bitterly.

 

“She swore all this on a Bible – which she brought with her, by the way. Oh, and apparently you and her other son, Robert, are treading a prickly path to Hell.”

 

“That’s old news,” Tony said, wondering, not for the first time, how such a horrible woman could possibly be the birth-mother of his friend Rob, who was a generous, kind, and smart man.

 

“Well, she’s praying for you. Just letting you know.”

 

Tony shook his head. “Gee, thanks. So sweet of her. Go on.”

 

“We don’t have any evidence that Beals’ mother knew anything about the kidnapping. Now…I’ll tell you that Beals also made several attempts to phone Robert, his half-brother.”

 

Tony nodded. “She married a second time. Rob’s dad owned a chain of hardware stores, but he died years ago.”

 

“Rob Tozier’s number was disconnected a few days earlier. I tracked him down, and he said that he’d changed his number because Frank had been harassing him. Rob refuses to have anything to do with him, or his own mother. Tells us something, right there.”

 

“Rob’s a good guy, Fornell,” Tony said, vouching for him. He knew they had to check into every call Beals had made, but just because a madman phoned you, didn’t mean you talked to him – or, if you did, that you agreed with anything he was saying. “Rob’s mother put him through hell all his teen years, and she made him go through gay conversion therapy, more than once. She… hell, she damaged him, Fornell. You have no idea…”

 

“I know what she did under the guise of running a youth center, DiNozzo. And I believe that Rob is in the clear.” Fornell hesitated a long moment, then said, “There’s more. Beals also phoned several politicians, mostly cronies of Mrs. Tozier. He…uh…he also called Senator DiNozzo.”

 

Tony stared, unable to wrap his mind around what Fornell was telling him. “He called my _dad_?”

 

“He called Senator DiNozzo five times, all during the last two days of your captivity,” Fornell said, sounding a little apologetic. “The first two times he couldn’t get through and hung up.”

 

“And the other times?” Tony asked, with trepidation.

 

“The subsequent three phone calls between Frank Beals and Senator DiNozzo lasted from five to twenty minutes.”

 

Tony leaned forward. “Are you telling me that my dad actually talked to him?”

 

“Yes, the last phone call Beals ever made was to your father,” said Fornell, looking grim.

 

“I…I…What’s my dad saying about this? How’d he explain it, that he was talking to…why would he talk to him… _shit_ …I have to…I…” He dropped the phone and rushed to the bathroom, afraid he was going to lose his breakfast, but the nauseous feeling passed after a minute. After splashing water over his face and drinking a handful of water, Tony emerged from the bathroom. Agent Brown was hovering, looking concerned, but Tony shook his head, indicating he was okay, and went back to the living room. He picked up the phone again. “You there? Sorry,” he said weakly.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Just tell me the rest,” Tony said. He started coughing and it took a while to get it to stop.

 

“You need a break?” Fornell asked when Tony came back on the line, still wheezing.

 

“No, I’m okay,” Tony replied, breathing evenly in the hope he wouldn’t start coughing again.

 

“We’re just starting this investigation, and technically I shouldn’t be telling you any of this,” said Fornell, “but as you were in law enforcement, and I know it won’t go any further than yourself…”

 

“It’s between us,” Tony promised.

 

Fornell spoke as if reciting facts. “I personally interviewed Senator DiNozzo. He admitted he’s known Marian Tozier for over forty years. When her son, Frank Beals, phoned him, Senator DiNozzo talked to him for her sake. He said that their conversation was mostly one-way, with Beals ‘talking nonsense’ about conspiracies. Beals’ main objective seemed to be to coerce the Senator into doing whatever it took to get his mother elected Governor. Senator DiNozzo insisted to me that he never promised Beals anything. He humored Beals to get rid of him, he said. In fact, the Senator phoned Marian Tozier immediately after Beals’ second call, because he could tell that Beals seemed mentally unstable and needed immediate help. That was shortly before you escaped. He did not know, nor did he ever suspect, that Beals had a hand in your kidnapping.”

 

“This whole thing…it’s insane.” Tony didn’t know what to make of his father having known Mrs. Tozier for all that time, yet never mentioning it. “Did you believe what my father told you?” Tony knew that by asking the question of Fornell, he was admitting he didn’t know whether or not to believe his own father.

 

“He seemed sincere. I don’t have any reason not to take him at his word. Do you have any reason not to trust your father’s speaking the truth?” countered the FBI agent.

 

With a bad feeling settling in his stomach, Tony replied, “Unless there’s evidence to the contrary…I guess I have to trust him, don’t I?”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

 

Tony was adamant: it was important that he showed his face to the world, however bruised that face may be. He needed to assure everyone he was recovering from his ordeal, and was able to perform his Congressional duties. “I’ve had plenty of rest,” he’d told Eric, when his Chief of Staff had phoned to make sure Tony had arrived home and had everything he needed. “I’m fine, just trying to get back to normal,” he’d assured Eric, and everyone who had asked how he was doing.

 

The brief sleep he’d had earlier had been disturbed by a dream in which he had been running for his life. Apart from that, he couldn’t quite remember what it had been about. At one point, Jethro Gibbs had been present, wearing a tool belt laden with hammers and saws and assorted hand tools – that much he remembered. They’d talked about something…paint colors, maybe. Tony had chosen a deep blue, and Jethro had smiled at him, his teeth gleaming in the late afternoon light. It all seemed so surreal.

 

Whatever had happened in the dream had faded, but now, sitting in the back seat of the FBI agents’ car, being driven to the TV studio, Tony had a clear memory of Jethro smiling at him.

 

Agent Jerome Brown, along with a young red-haired agent who introduced himself as Agent Calloway, delivered Tony to the studio half an hour before he was due to go on. As they walked through the lobby, several people greeted Tony, with a respectful, “Congressman,” and “Good to see you back,” although they stared at the bruises appearing above his collar and the black eye that was impossible to hide. Tony nodded and smiled, but didn’t stop to reply.

 

The FBI agents hustled him into the elevator and Agent Brown smoothly prevented anyone from getting in with them. As the doors slid closed, Tony questioned, “You don’t think that two bodyguards is overkill? I mean, you guys can drop me off and go for coffee or something.”

 

Agent Brown smiled politely. “Thank you, sir, but Agent Fornell said he’d have our balls if any harm comes to you.”

 

Calloway added, “And we believe him, which is why we appreciate your full cooperation, Congressman.”

 

Tony raised his hands in surrender. He didn’t believe he was in any danger, but he didn’t feel settled, either. “Okay, have it your way.” The elevator doors opened on the tenth floor, and Tony, flanked by the FBI agents, stepped out into the studio lobby. They were greeted by one of _The People’s Word_ producers, who ushered Tony to the dressing room while giving him a rundown of what to expect. Tony was greeted warmly by the host, and handed off to an assistant, who made sure that he was well supplied with hot tea and lemon lozenges. The agents, he saw, stayed close, hovering in the hallway.

 

Tony had taken all his meds, prior to leaving home, but he was so drained, all he wanted to do was to crawl into bed. He sighed and shook it off, telling himself, “DiNozzo, stop being such a wuss. A cough and some neck pain shouldn’t hold you back. Get the hell out there and perform!”

 

He refused more than a cursory application of make-up, having decided that he was going to be truthful about his experience. “Might as well show them the real me,” Tony told the make-up lady, winking at her with his good eye. The host and other guests were genuinely sympathetic, and once the show got going, Tony managed to keep up with the fast-paced discussion about alternate ways to deal with, among other things, crime and domestic terrorism in America.

 

Although Dr. Pitt had given him a strong cough suppressant that came in a spray, and Tony used it liberally during every commercial break, by the end of the hour he was starting to hack and had trouble speaking. Before they signed off, each guest had a moment to say something. Tony used his fifteen seconds to thank everyone who had been kind enough to send him good wishes and prayers. “As my son pointed out to me last night, ‘Don’t be afraid of moving on to something new.’…that’s according to the Power Rangers,” Tony added after a slight pause. It got some laughs, and once the cameras were off them, the other guests made a point of wishing him a speedy recovery, and seemed sincerely concerned.

 

While being driven home by his FBI watchdogs, Tony received several phone calls of support. After taking three of those calls, he put the ringer on mute, too tired and numb to deal with anyone else. When the phone vibrated in his pocket, Tony pulled it out to look at the caller ID. It was his father; he let it go to voice mail. The message DiNozzo Sr. left was in line with the other messages of support, well wishes, and congratulations on his appearance on the show, but Senior finished up his message by saying, _“We need to talk about your future, Junior. Soon.”_

 

Tony barely refrained from tossing the cell phone out the car window.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Tony awoke with a start, sitting up in bed, breathing hard. He was drenched in sweat and had a feeling that something bad was about to happen. It was two in the morning, but he knew he wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep. Instead, he wandered around the loft, feeling alone and out of place. Memories of the kidnapping came out of nowhere and wouldn’t leave him alone: Beals beating him until he puked all over the floor of the mobile home in which he’d been held prisoner; being blindfolded and gagged while chained to a disgusting smelling bed; his captor screaming and banging his head on the kitchen table until he saw stars.

 

Shaking, Tony wrapped himself in a blanket, and made himself small at one end of the couch. He stared out at the harbor lights for a while, and watched a patrol boat make its way slowly through the inky waters, leaving behind a frothy wake. He wondered what it would be like, sinking into that cold, black river, letting the strong current take him away. No more memories, nothing to worry about, no cares or concerns ever again.

 

Tony pushed the dark thoughts aside by thinking about his son, and how fast he was growing, how soon he wouldn’t be a little boy any more, and how they were going to have to keep a close eye on him once he became a teen. Zach was pretty good at school, and had varied interests, though at the moment he was sports-driven and his grades were a little lower than Wendy liked. But Zack was a good boy, and had proven he was kind and thoughtful as well as precocious. Tony couldn’t help a rueful shake of the head at the image of Zack as a teenager, because if the boy got into half the trouble he had gotten into at that age…well, he was going to be a handful.

 

And then Tony’s thoughts turned to his friendship with Jethro, and the way he had stayed at his bedside when he’d felt so crappy and in need of a friend. Jethro taken his hand and told him that his door was always open, and he’d offered him a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. Unsure of what it all meant, and where it would go, if it went anywhere, Tony sighed. What with everything that was going on in his life, wrapping up his term in Congress, dealing with his father, and his pending divorce from Wendy, taking the time to get to really know Jethro Gibbs was going to be near impossible. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

 

After a while, Tony made himself get up; he really needed to get some food in his stomach before he took his next dose of pills. Cereal was easiest, corn flakes, but Tony only managed to eat half a bowl. Around three a.m., he fell asleep in the middle of a _Magnum_ episode, and awoke only when Agent Calloway came in to check on him when doing his rounds first thing in the morning. After a much-needed shower and a dose of cough medicine, Tony dressed in sweats and a comfortable pullover. With a large cup of coffee at hand, he opened his laptop to deal with a mountain of emails.

 

Over the next couple of days, Tony worked from home, keeping in touch with his office. He made inroads on writing his business plan, in preparation for when he returned to the private sector. His cough was annoying but slowly got better, and although the uneasy feeling he’d had since he’d escaped from his kidnapper persisted, nothing bad happened – unless you counted lack of sleep and a non-existent appetite.

 

The FBI agents were still on guard, taking shifts, though they remained out of sight much of the time. Fornell called at least twice a day with updates, but so far there had been little progress in determining whether or not Beals had worked with an accomplice. Tony could tell that Fornell was frustrated, but he trusted that the man would get to the bottom of it – hopefully sooner rather than later – and Tony could get back to his life.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Late at night, when he was alone, Tony would think of Jethro. He would remember his kindness, the way he’d steadied him at the hospital with a warm, sure hand on his shoulder, comforting him during his worst moments. Sometimes his mind would wander and he would think about Jethro in a more intimate way, too, wondering if his silver hair was crisp or soft to the touch. He couldn’t get the picture of Jethro’s clear blue eyes out of his mind, or the compassionate expression he’d seen in them. He thought about Jethro’s home, the farm where he’d taken refuge, and he wondered if he’d be strong enough to return to the place where Frank Beals had almost killed him. Jethro had made him an open-ended offer to come and visit, but Tony wasn’t sure he could face seeing, in broad daylight, the big hole in the front porch where Beals had met his death.

 

Tony wondered how Jethro felt about having been put in a position where he was forced to kill a man. Sure, he’d been protecting Tony, but he’d just met him. Jethro had stood up and defended him, a stranger, without any compunction, as far as Tony could tell. Even though Jethro had had a long career in the Marines and then NCIS, and had surely killed men in the line of duty, Tony instinctively knew that Jethro would never take any death lightly.

 

Those thoughts led Tony to puzzle over how a man who had been such a driving force in NCIS had been able to change his way of life so drastically, going from chasing dangerous criminals to settling on a rural horse farm. But most of all, Tony wondered if there was any possibility that he could, somehow, fit into Jethro’s life.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Recuperating was not fun. In fact, it was boring as hell, especially as Tony couldn’t talk more than a few softly spoken words, for fear of starting off another coughing fit. His neck muscles ached, but Lydia had been a lifesaver. When she’d come over with papers to for him to sign, she had brought a Bed Buddy neck wrap that could be heated in the microwave. The first time Tony used it, the moist heat felt so good it sent him to right to sleep.

 

Tony did what he could to prevent going completely stir-crazy. He kept up with the news, in newspapers, web and TV. He watched briefings and _Washington Journal_ on C-SPAN, emailed people, and did what business he could from home. Lydia came by for a couple of hours each day to act as his liaison between the Baltimore and Washington offices.

 

It wasn’t easy keeping talking to a minimum, but Tony did his best. He took his prescriptions as ordered, and drank so much tea and water he spent half his day in the bathroom. One good thing was that all that liquid he was drinking was helping his bruised kidneys and he wasn’t pissing blood any more.

 

As a member of the Subcommittee on Health, Tony was scheduled to talk on the impact of current laws on the LGBT community at a Congressional task force meeting that Friday. He was determined to regain the full strength of his voice by then. He had been working on drafting the Stop Harming Our Kids resolution, with Rob Tozier’s assistance, for the past year. With Rob’s help, Tony had garnered a great deal of support to create a federal law that would prevent health care providers from coercing minors to undergo conversion therapy.

 

He’d seen how messed up Rob had been after his mother had forced him to go through so-called therapy in order to turn him from gay to straight. What they’d done to Rob had amounted to torture, both mental and physical, and although Rob rarely talked about it, he had been scarred for life. That went a good way towards being the reason Tony was so passionate about getting conversion therapy outlawed on a federal level.

 

Even if Tony was unable to speak in public at present, he kept up with his research and reports for another committee he was assigned to, the Subcommittee on Anti-Terrorism. There were also plenty of ongoing issues to deal with that directly impacted his district; crime rates, housing, unemployment and garbage strikes were always on the agenda.

 

On Monday, Tony used Skype to join his 3rd District staff at their regular Monday morning meeting. Tony, liberally dosed with cough suppressant, sat in his living room, while everyone else gathered in the Baltimore office. His team in Baltimore had assured him that they could keep the office running smoothly until his medical leave was over, and he returned on Wednesday. Now all Tony had to do was get clearance from Dr. Pitt.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Tony’s health issues had improved enough so that by Tuesday afternoon he felt ready to face Dr. Pitt in his DC office. Tony was still under the watchful eye of the FBI, and the job of driving him into DC went to one Agent Braunmeir. Braunmeir was a burly man of about fifty, who reminded Tony of the irascible Perry White in _Superman_. Although the agency car was generally clean inside, there were several empty coffee cups stacked in the cup holder at the agent’s elbow. To break the ice, Tony asked, “Starbucks or DuPont Coffee Shop – who has the best dark roast? What d’you think?”

 

They spent the rest of the ride with Braunmeir and Tony discussing where to get the best coffee in DC. Braunmeir said, “If you can handle coffee that isn’t fancy, Chinatown Coffee is good.”

 

“Is that the place with the absinthe bar?” asked Tony.

 

“Yeah, and there’s also East Side Diner. They only serve plain dark roast. Great sandwiches.” It was obvious that Braunmeir took his coffee seriously.

 

“Maybe we can head over there after I’m done?” Tony suggested.

 

“We gotta eat,” Braunmeir agreed.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Dr. Pitt was pleased with Tony’s progress, but cautioned him, “You may speak at a normal level, but I don’t want you to strain your voice. I’m sending you to ENT specialist, a friend of mine. He agreed to look at you today.”

 

Tony pulled a face. “C’mon, Doc, you said I was better.”

 

“This is very important, Tony. You don’t want to have permanent damage to your throat. You sound pretty rough,” Brad said.

 

“I guess it’s sort of scratchy,” Tony admitted.

 

Dr. Pitt gently examined Tony’s bruised neck. “Are you coughing frequently?”

 

“Not as much as before.”

 

“Neck hurt? Muscle spasms?”

 

“Not as much.”

 

Pitt seemed pleased with the condition of Tony’s wrists. “Keep the bandages on for now, though, and replace them if they get wet. As far as your neck goes, continue with the hot packs as needed. Use up the prescriptions I gave you. Other than that…Let me see if we can get those sutures out of your shoulder.”

 

“I still look like a punching bag,” Tony moaned, catching a glimpse of his face in the examination room mirror. His eye was rimmed with purple and green discoloration, and his neck still bore signs of where he’d been choked. At least the eye itself hadn’t been damaged.

 

“You’re very lucky, you know,” Pitt said sympathetically.

 

Tony shrugged, embarrassed.

 

Pitt wasn’t going to let it go. “It’ll take time to get past this, Tony. Remember I’m available 24 hours a day, if you have any medical issues…or just want to talk.”

 

Smiling even though he didn’t feel like it, Tony nodded. “Sure, Doc.”

 

Pitt was studying his face. “You should consider talk to Gibbs. Don’t forget he’s gone through some of the same experiences as you. He might seem like a stoic kind of man, but he may very well want someone to talk to, too.”

 

“Okay. I’ll…I’ll think about it.” Tony nodded again, even though he was pretty sure that Jethro was the kind of man who would tell him to get over it before heading out to feed the horses.

 

“Good. You’re not alone, Tony,” Dr. Pitt said, and turned away to assemble the items he’d need to remove the sutures from Tony’s shoulder.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Frank Beals punched Tony in the face when Tony wouldn’t shut up about the way messed-up psycho-killers always had three names. “John Wilkes Booth, Lee Harvey Oswald… So what’s your name? No? Not gonna tell me? I’ll just call you Artie, after Arthur Gary Bishop, who assaulted and murdered five little boys out of Utah in the ‘80s. He got the needle, was executed for kidnapping and murder. They say he was shaking so hard his eyes were popping out of his sockets. It took twenty minutes for him to finally die ‘cause they got the dose wrong, and the scene was so bad that even the warden puked. You’re just like him, aren’t you, Artie? Can’t get it up unless your victim is tied and helpless, can you? You like little–”

 

A fist slamming into your face, especially when you’re naked, and with your hands tied behind your back, is no picnic. Whatever he’d been drugged with, it didn’t put a dent in the pain, just made it feel like his skin was peeling off. Tony dropped hard on his knees, spitting blood, blinded by the head-splitting pain. It took him a couple of minutes to recover, but once he did, he laughed at his abductor. There was a raw kind of pleasure in being able to make the guy lose control. Of course it was like poking an anthill: there were consequences. The guy hit him again. That time Tony saw stars. He went down and stayed down. He spent the night tied up on the filthy floor, shivering and dreaming of revenge.

 

The next day his captor removed his mask for the first time, and Tony squinted up at him with his one good eye. That’s when it hit him – he was never going to see his family again. Swallowing his fear, Tony said, with a bitter laugh forced through swollen, cracked lips. “So, Artie, I’ll just bet when you were a kid, you drowned kittens and pulled the wings off flies. Am I right, or am I right?”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Tony’s normal sense of self-preservation had been anesthetized by the cocktail of sedatives, anti-psychotics and whatever other pharmaceuticals that _he_ had put in his food. He had had no trouble baiting the guy, making fun of him to his face, taking pleasure in jabbing at him every chance he got. Stupid? Well, yeah, but Tony couldn’t help himself.

 

Afterwards, when Beals was dead and he was safe, Tony had found himself stuttering and stumbling if anyone so much as mentioned him. _Him_ …Frank Beals. The boogeyman, the one with the power, who held all the cards, the psycho nut job who had no boundaries. Even in death he was still present, making Tony relive those days he’d spent in captivity.

 

“Tony. Tony?”

 

Tony blinked a few times, and he realized that he was in Dr. Pitt’s exam room. The doc was standing in front of him, looking at him with concern. “What?”

 

“You okay? You were absent there for a few seconds.” Pitt pulled out a small penlight and checked Tony’s eyes. Apparently he didn’t see anything to alarm him, because he took a step back.

 

Tony recovered enough to smile. “My wife has been known to complain I glaze over, especially when the in-laws come to dinner.” Pitt let it slide and didn’t question him any further, but he scribbled some notes on paperwork in Tony’s folder.

 

Dr. Pitt pulled on gloves and started to remove the stitches from Tony’s shoulder. “Did you know that you can buy punching bags with anyone’s likeness on them?” he asked casually.

 

Tony looked over his shoulder, meeting the doctor’s eyes. “Get a workout by punching yourself? Doesn’t that come a bit too close to self-harm? Or would it be sadomasochism? I’m not into pain; I like pleasure with my pleasure.” Although, Tony hadn’t had any sexual pleasure with anyone for months, not since he’d found out that Wendy had been cheating on him – again.

 

“I didn’t mean for _you_ to have your own face on the bag, Tony,” said Pitt. “You get your worst enemy’s face printed on it. There, you’re done. I don’t think there’ll be too much of a scar.”

Tony shrugged. Another scar to add to his collection didn’t bother him. “Who was it in _Fight Club_ that said they didn’t want to ‘die without any scars’?”

 

Pitt faced Tony. “It was Tyler Durden who said that. And no, the concept behind _Fight Club_ doesn’t apply to you. You’re not some guy with a meaningless job who needs to feel the pack of a punch to feel alive, are you?”

 

“No, no I’m not.” Tony shook his head and smiled, even if it hurt him to do so.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Finally, Wednesday came around, and Tony went to work for the first time since the kidnapping. With Agent Brown driving an FBI vehicle with tinted windows, Tony arrived at the Baltimore office early, where his staff greeted him warmly. People came by to offer support and friendship, even some of Tony’s political rivals. The office personnel brought out cake, and Tony gave a speech using rudimentary sign language. Eric had provided an attractive female ASL translator to assist him, partially as a joke, but having the woman verbalize for him saved Tony’s voice from undue strain.

 

FBI Agent Jerome Brown didn’t let Tony out of his sight, even posting himself outside the men’s room when Tony was using it. Tony felt better knowing the man was there, watching his six. He was well aware that hyper-vigilance and the desire to remain safe in your own home were common symptoms among victims of kidnapping and other violent crimes.

 

Tony’s people practically babied him, and his personal assistant, Scott Mooney, a twenty-something with blond spiky hair and a slight Texas accent, brought him snacks and hot tea throughout the day. By three o’clock his voice had become hoarse, but thankfully he wasn’t coughing much. It looked as though by the time Friday morning came around, he’d be in shape to make his presentation to the Subcommittee on Health. Tomorrow he’d have to take it easy, or else he’d be mute when he finally stood in front of the committee members.

 

Tony considered obtaining the service file of former NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs in the hopes of learning more about the man. Or maybe he could pull some strings and get hold of more personal information on the man. But even as his curiosity was sparked, Tony thought better of it. Finding out about Jethro Gibbs on a one-on-one basis would be a lot more interesting than reading between the lines of a bureaucratic work history. Besides, he had a strong feeling that Jethro would somehow know that Tony had been snooping around, and he would not be happy about it.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

On Friday, Scott Mooney briefed Tony on his schedule for the following week. Apart from dealing with tons of correspondence, and attending meetings with aides and constituents, Congressman DiNozzo was scheduled to make various appearances, including talking to a group of students at Baltimore City College. Also, on the agenda was a meeting with the operations officers of the Port of Baltimore to discuss efforts in boosting anti-terrorism security, prior to a report to Congress. Although his staff had taken on extra work while Tony had been ‘unavailable,’ there was a backlog of work to do. He felt tired just thinking about it.

 

Scott said, “Monday starts out with breakfast meeting with the aides, then you meet with a group of students at City College at 10 AM, so I moved up the staff meeting to noon. Conference at 2, and you need to be present to vote on the weapons bill at 4. Here are the details. Tuesday, there’s a city council meeting with the Council on Aging. I was asked to let you know that the folks from the Downtown Senior Center are attending, specifically because they want to be there to thank you for getting them the… Blue Betsy?” Scott looked quizzically at his boss.

 

Tony laughed. “The center hasn’t had a bus since their last one broke down and died. I made some calls, and found the funds, that’s all. And yes, it’s blue and they named it Betsy, after the center’s founder.”

 

Scott seemed pleased. “That’s nice of you, Congressman. All righty, Wednesday you’re doing C-SPAN’s _Washington Journal_. At 8:30 AM, I’m afraid, but they’re arranging a live video feed from here, so you don’t have to go to DC. Lunch is at the Navy Reserve Center with…” He glanced up. “Do you want me to read all the details or should I just leave the schedule?”

 

“Leave it, thanks, Scott. Keep me updated of any changes.”

 

“One more thing then. You wanted me to keep late Friday open? The Subcommittee on Emerging Threats and Capabilities is meeting at 1 PM. Details are on the schedule.”

 

“Great. That means I can get out early enough to watch my son’s basketball game,” said Tony.

 

Scott was about to leave when he turned back and said in a low, emotional voice, “I’d just like to say, sir, that I am very, very glad you’re back, and safe, and that you…well, I hope you feel better, and if you want me to lighten your schedule…”

 

Tony thanked the young man and shooed him out of his office before any tears were shed. He was grateful and humbled by the good wishes of so many people, but he would be so glad when some big news story popped up and people would stop looking at his bruised face and neck, while speculating about what he’d been through.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

The severity and frequency of Tony’s coughs diminished more every day, although first thing in the morning, you’d have thought he was dying, from all the hacking that went on. Tony had learned that if he controlled his breathing, and spoke in slow, even tones, he could manage quite well. The swelling around his eye had gone down, the purple had changed to a sickly green and yellow, and it appeared to be healing at a normal rate. Some of the bruises on his body had almost dissipated; others still looked bad, but Tony no longer felt like he’d been run over by a bus. He did have spasms in his neck muscles now and then, but the heat wrap and ibuprofen usually took care of it; he had stronger meds if the pain became too much.

 

Fornell and his people had almost wrapped up their investigation, and were, more than ever, leaning towards the conclusion that Beals had been working alone. To Tony that meant it would be safe for his family to return home at the end of the week.

 

“We’ll talk on Friday,” promised Fornell.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Tony found himself thinking about Jethro a lot – an awful lot. Especially at night, when he couldn’t sleep. He went over their brief time together, replaying every scene like it was a movie; he even pictured it in black and white, as well as in glorious Technicolor. He saw Jethro opening his door to him, talking to him by the fireside, and rescuing him from Beals. He could smell the wood smoke from the fire in the hearth, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and for some reason, sawdust, as if from woodworking. Hay and horses, too, and the scent of the rain. Gunpowder and blood, those were less than pleasant smells that invaded his memories, and Tony tried to obliterate them from his mind. He didn’t have much luck.

 

Tony tried not to think about Beals, but it was hard not to, so every time his mind went back to his time in captivity, that terrible, disturbing time, he told himself to picture Jethro instead: Jethro’s blue eyes, the way his mouth turned up a little at the corner when he was trying not to smile, his attentiveness when he’d helped Tony in the shower after bringing him in from the rainstorm, the way Jethro had listened to him, had asked him questions like he really cared to hear the answers, and the way he’d looked at Tony. He’d looked at him like…Tony didn’t quite know what the emotion behind those eyes had been, not for sure, but he imagined it was a compassionate look, a _truthful_ look. It was as though Jethro had really _seen_ him, had _known_ him.

 

Tony huffed a small laugh. He was deluding himself, seeing things that weren’t there – connections, a possible future. They didn’t really exist. The man had simply been sorry for him, had felt somewhat responsible for him, too. Jethro was a good man, but their brief encounter was just that, brief.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Gibbs picked up his cell phone…and put it back down on the kitchen table…for the tenth time in as many minutes. “Damn it!” He grabbed the cell and dialed Tony’s number, determined to see this through, but just as it started to ring, he noticed a car coming down the drive. It was Moira, come to help groom the horses. Reluctantly, Gibbs pressed ‘cancel’ and went out to meet her.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Tony sat at his desk in the Baltimore office, thinking about spending time in Washington next week, and not looking forward to it. When he had a quiet moment, Tony picked his cell up, off the desk, and called Jethro. He pressed the buttons for the house phone at the farm, doing it quickly before he could chicken out. It rang and rang, and after ten rings, Tony realized that either Jethro didn’t have an answering machine, or it wasn’t hooked up. He reluctantly hung up and tried again, using Jethro’s cell number. It went directly to voice mail, and an automated voice informed him that the mailbox was full. “Damn it!” Tony slammed his hand on his desk in frustration, and was about to place a call to Agent Fornell, when his assistant beeped him to let him know that he had to leave for DC in five minutes.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

The phone rang Saturday morning, just as Tony was about to pour Agent Braunmeir some of his freshly brewed, extra dark coffee. “DiNozzo,” Tony said into the phone, holding out a hand for the FBI agent’s travel mug.

 

“It’s Agent Fornell. We’re still tying up loose ends,” Fornell said apologetically. “I’m calling to let you know it’s safe to bring Mrs. DiNozzzo and your son home.”

 

“If it’s so safe, why do I still have a guy in an extremely boring suit guarding my front door?” Tony asked. “Hang on a minute, will you, Fornell?” Tony handed Agent Braunmeir his travel mug, saying, “It’s strong enough to put hair on your chest.” The agent nodded his thanks, and left on his rounds of the building. “Okay, I’m back,” Tony said, closing his front door and locking it.

 

Fornell said, “Just a precaution, Congressman.”

 

“Against what?”

 

“Just humor me. How’re you holding up?” asked Fornell.

 

“Me? Oh, I’m fine and dandy. You should try spending an afternoon stating your case on conversion therapy to an audience of representatives, while coughing hard enough to puke your guts out. The minute I was done, they were outta there so fast you’d have thought I had the plague or something.”

 

“Did they listen?” asked Fornell.

 

Tony sighed. “Yeah, I think they did. I can be pretty persuasive. I’ll start making calls on Monday, go out and press the flesh, make sure they all have the fact sheets in their hands.”

 

“You should take it easy,” Fornell suggested. “Send someone else. You should stay home.”

 

“What’s that mean?”

 

“Just what I’m saying. You can’t expect to bounce right back after being kidnapped and almost killed.”

 

Tony retorted, “Why not? The world doesn’t stop just because someone tries to trade me for a few million.”

 

“DiNozzo…”

 

Tony was tired of being coddled. “I’m fine. What is it with you FBI guys? You’re like mother hens.”

 

“We’re probably like this because the people we’re trying to protect tend to act like kids who think they know better,” Fornell replied.

 

Tony could sense, without seeing him, that the agent was smiling. “I can handle it.”

 

“It?” Fornell persisted.

 

“It. You know, waking up in a cold sweat, barfing when I cough too hard. Oh my God…you don’t think I’m pregnant, do you?” Tony asked with a laugh.

 

The laugh triggered a bout of coughing, and when Tony was finished, Fornell said firmly, “You need to take a few days off. Stop making speeches.”

 

“I’ve got too much to do,” Tony replied.

 

“It’s the weekend. Make the most of it. How about you go somewhere out in the country and enjoy the fresh air.”

 

“You have somewhere in particular in mind?” Tony asked suspiciously.

 

After a slight hesitation, Fornell suggested, “Well, there’s this horse farm over in Bowie…”

 

“C’mon, Fornell. I can’t.”

 

“Why not?”

 

After a moment Tony said, in a quiet voice, “He never picks up his damned phone. I don’t want to encroach and…” Tony sighed. “Besides, I’m not trooping around the country with a protective detail hovering, and failing to blend in.”

 

“You tired of my agents, Congressman?” Fornell asked.

 

“I just need…I need things to get back to normal,” Tony admitted.

 

“Sorry, not for a couple of days.”

 

“You said there was no danger. That Wendy and Zack could return.”

 

“My agents aren’t bringing them back until Sunday night,” Fornell explained. “Tell you what. I’ll relieve your bodyguards of duty if you’re out in the boonies, at Gibbs’ place.”

 

That made Tony smile. “Are you saying that one former NCIS agent is better than two of your Fibbies?”

 

“I’m saying he’s a good man to have at your side, DiNozzo. Besides, that farm of his is damned hard to find. Who’s going to be able to locate you? I think Gibbs removed all the road signs in the area.”

 

Tony chuckled. He wouldn’t put that past Jethro. “I’ve got someone coming over tonight…but I’ll call him again, okay?”

 

As soon as he was off the phone with Fornell, Tony called Wendy. They were still at her parents’ home, she said, and she confirmed they had no plans to return home until Sunday evening; Zack had to go to school Monday morning. He had a basketball game that Tony didn’t want to miss later in the week, and Wendy agreed that if Tony went to the game, he could stay for dinner after he brought Zack home. Wendy had always hated going to kids’ games, and PTA meetings and the like.

 

Tony offered, “Tell you what…I can stay overnight if you want. Boys’ night in. You can go…out.” Tony had no doubt that Wendy would jump at the opportunity to have a night off, to spend time with whoever she was currently fucking. He was right; she agreed.

 

Finding out that his wife had cheated on him had hurt Tony more than he could have imagined, and discovering months later that she returned to her lover, even after she’d sworn she’d given him up, had hurt Tony even more. But now, the thought of Wendy going off to meet some guy, while Tony stayed at his wife’s home taking care of their son, no longer had the ability to cause him pain. Maybe it was because he’d taken control of the difficult situation by declaring that he was divorcing her. They’d fought about it, back and forth, and even his father had become involved at one point, until Tony had put his foot down. In the end, Tony had won – if you can call splitting up after twelve years a win – and from that moment on, he’d felt relief interlaced with the sadness that comes with the end of any long-term relationship.

 

Wendy handed the phone over to Zack, who asked his dad when he was going to see him, and if he’d be at his game, and if they could watch a _Sherlock Holmes_ movie. “Can we see one with that bad guy in it?”

 

“Basil Rathbone? You’d like _The Hound of the Baskervilles_. ‘Murder, my dear Watson. Refined, cold-blooded murder,’” Tony said in an English accent, which set Zack giggling.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Late in the afternoon, Tony took a long hot shower, glad that the week from hell was over. _Two_ weeks from hell, if you counted the time he’d spent chained to a bed in the middle of nowhere, with a crazy fuck spewing conspiracy theories to an audience of one.

 

Tony had taken it easy that morning, still recovering from yesterday’s trip to Washington. Although he’d made out to Fornell that his report to the committee hadn’t gone well, that was far from the truth. It had been a bit of a strain to talk, and he had had to step away to cough a couple of times, but the microphone was good and the audience had been attentive. Several representatives had come up to him afterwards, promising they were unified about getting a federal law passed to stop conversion therapy for kids. Just hearing that, Tony felt better than he had in days.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

After speaking before the committee, Tony had returned to his small office at the Longworth Building in DC, only to find his father was waiting there for him. “I can’t deal with this now,” Tony had muttered. He’d managed a smile and a greeting. “Dad! Great to see you!”

 

Tony had been a little surprised that Senior had given him a real hug, and not a clap on the shoulder version, but it was the first time they’d seen each other since Tony had been brought into the hospital. Tony had invited his father to take a seat, and said he’d be right with him. He then took his assistant aside to give him orders. “Do whatever it takes to call me away on important business exactly ten minutes. Got it?” Mooney had nodded, wide-eyed.

 

After plying his father with Macallan 18 (three fingers, one ice cube), Tony had interrogated him about his connection with Mrs. Tozier, and asked why the hell had the man who had kidnapped him phoned his father.

 

Senior had waved a dismissive hand about the woman, and had denied knowing what had motivated her son. “Nothing he said made any sense. Political jibber-jabber. Spitting hate. Waste of my time. I had no idea this idiot who kept calling me was the man who’d abducted you, Son,” the elder DiNozzo had said.

 

Senior had gone on to complain about the way the FBI had treated him, picking him up at his club, and taking him away to interrogate him. The ten-minute warning from his assistant had come before Tony had obtained any useful information, so he just about pushed his father out of his office, with the promise they’d do dinner soon.

 

On his way out, Senior had stopped and, for the first time, really inspected his son. “You look like hell, Junior. Are you all right? You didn’t come back to work too soon?”

 

Tony heard genuine concern in his father’s voice, so he answered that he was doing better every day, although he played down his injuries. Senior, in response, had given him a brief parting hug. “Call me about dinner next week,” he had said gruffly. “And give that wife of yours a kiss for me.”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

As he dried off after his shower, Tony decided to call Jethro again, to ask him over for dinner or something – if the man ever picked up his phone. Dinner out and a movie, perhaps at the Old Greenbelt Theatre, where they showed vintage films. Or he could cook something simple and they’d eat here at the condo. Would Jethro like Italian? Tony’s pasta dish with pecorino and pepper was good enough for company. If the weather was good they could have drinks out on the patio.

 

Tony wondered what genre of movie Jethro would prefer. A Western classic would be good. Something with McQueen in it. _Magnificent Seven_ had enough powerful stars to please anyone, or there was _Nevada Smith_ , with McQueen tracking down and killing the men who had murdered his parents. On the other hand, all that killing? Maybe it was a bit too bloodthirsty for a date. Tony stopped for a moment as he was pulling on his pants. How the hell had plans to invite Jethro for a simple dinner turned into a date?

 

This was crazy. He didn’t want to _date_ Jethro. No. No way! He just wanted to…He wanted to thank Jethro in some way, and to enjoy his company when he wasn’t being pursued by a kidnapper/killer during a violent thunderstorm. He also wanted to go out to Kelly Brook Farm to meet the horses, and to see how Jethro’s injured arm was doing. That was what he wanted. Plain and simple.

 

Even though Jethro had invited Tony to come any time, assured him he was welcome, Tony felt uneasy about just driving over there unannounced. Jethro would probably be busy with the farm and the horses, or fixing the hole on the front porch, and wouldn’t have time for him.

 

Anyway, no matter how much he liked Jethro, and was grateful for everything he’d done for him, Tony wasn’t sure he could face going back to the place where they’d had the final showdown with Frank Beals. He doubted very much he could even look at the porch where the man had fallen through the rotten floorboards, and see the spot where Jethro had shot _him_ , without falling to pieces. Hell, simply thinking about that man’s arm around his neck, choking him, the smell of his sweat, the sour breath on his cheek, made Tony’s stomach turn over.

 

Tony’s phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. “DiNozzo.”

 

“Your guest has arrived, Congressman. Do you want me to bring him up?” It was Agent Brown, who was on duty tonight.

 

“Sure. Hey, Jerome, if it gets cold tonight, don’t sit out in your car. You know I have that couch in the den.”

 

“I appreciate that, sir, but…”

 

“Yeah, I know, you have to keep moving, keep vigilant,” Tony said before hanging up.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Tony looked through the peephole to confirm that the person on the other side of the heavy metal door was who he was expecting. Agent Brown held up his ID and badge. Tony admired the man’s adherence to FBI policy, but he was going to have to take the guy out for a drink, and get him to loosen up a bit. Maybe share some stories about his own probie days with the Peoria Police Department.

 

Tony took a deep breath, put on a pleasant expression, and opened the door wide. Agent Brown stepped to one side to allow Tony’s visitor to approach. “Rob, come on in,” Tony said, ushering Robert Tozier into his home.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

His tires screeched as Jethro took the exit to the Baltimore waterfront, steering with one hand. He’d removed the damn sling but he knew enough not to use his left arm unless he really needed to. As he navigated towards his destination, he questioned, for the hundredth time, his motivation in dropping by Tony DiNozzo’s home. A quick glance at the white plastic carrier bag on the passenger seat, containing an almost-new red Marines hoodie, made Jethro say aloud, “Why the hell not?”

 

He liked Tony. It was obvious that he was a good man. He’d been through a lot and needed a friend – and Jethro wanted to be that friend. Add those all up, and someone might come to the conclusion that Jethro, too, was a good man, for wanting to be there for a man he barely knew, but Jethro knew that he was doing this for purely selfish reasons. That didn’t stop him though, not for a second.

 

Sure, he wanted to make sure that Tony was all right. Tony had seemed like he was on the road to recovery when Jethro had said goodbye to him at the hospital a few days ago, but Jethro had a feeling that Tony was hiding something. It was his gut, his years of experience at reading people, that told him that Tony had not revealed everything that had happened to him when he’d been kidnapped – neither to the authorities nor to the medical team who handled his care. There wasn’t any one thing that Jethro could point to and say, “There, _see_? He’s not telling you about that.” It was more the subtle slide of Tony’s eyes when anyone mentioned the way Beals had treated him, the tightening of his jaw muscles, the way he had breathed when a doctor had come near or had laid hands upon him, that had made Jethro feel that something was amiss. It could have been a reaction from the way he’d been mistreated while in captivity, but Jethro was certain it was more than that. He wasn’t going to ask Tony about it directly, but he’d make sure that Tony knew that he was there if he needed to talk.

 

Over the past few days, every time Jethro had called Tony’s cell, it was either busy or it went to voice mail. He had hung up rather than leave a message, more than once. Jethro hated the things, and, quite honestly, he had no idea what to say to Tony, other than, “Call me,” which would sound too much like a Gunnery Sergeant’s gruff command. Probably not what Tony needed to hear.

 

Plan B had been to ask Fornell how Tony was doing, only he’d referred to him as ‘Congressman DiNozzo.’ Fornell had been a little tight-lipped with intel, but he said that Tony had left his wife’s house and had returned to Baltimore, where he was currently living. There was a protection detail assigned to the Congressman until they closed the case. Deep down, Jethro was glad of both of these things because, from what Tony had told him, he was better off without the cheating wife, and they had not yet ascertained if Frank Beals had had an accomplice.

 

Jethro couldn’t help thinking that if NCIS had been handling this case, it would have been wrapped up by now, and they would have been in the middle of an straightforward investigation of a dead petty officer in Rock Creek Park. Man, he almost missed those days, if you discounted the long hours and the constant stream of tragedies that crossed his team’s path.

 

So now Jethro was driving to Tony’s place in the hope that he could see for himself that Tony was good. Jethro intended to give him a red hoodie he had worn only a couple of times, to replace the one they’d cut off Tony at the hospital. That was all. No ulterior motive at all.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Robert Tozier, a handsome, dark-haired man in his late thirties, seemed nervous and not quite sure of his welcome. As directed, he walked ahead of Tony into the living room, and stood at the window to watch the lights of the boats as they plied the dark waters of the harbor.

 

Before Tony could join him, Agent Brown asked Tony for a minute of his time. Quietly, he said, “Agent Fornell gave me orders not to let Mr. Tozier out of my sight, sir.”

 

Tony scoffed, “I’ve known Rob forever. When we were in college, we used to go out drinking together every Saturday night. Hell, we watched _Magnum_ marathons on Sunday nights while we studied with the Andreas twins.” Tony wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

 

Jerome smiled, but he said, “Yes, sir. Just the same, I have to stay. I’ll be over there.”

 

“C’mon,” Tony said, keeping his voice low. “It isn’t like Rob is going harm me.” The FBI agent looked steadily at him, reminding Tony of Jethro Gibbs’ steely glare. He could see he wasn’t going to win this one. “Okay, you’re the boss.” Tony turned on his heel and approached Rob Tozier with a friendly smile. “You want a drink, Rob?”

 

Rob glanced at the FBI agent, who had retreated to a spot by the front door, but he replied, “Sure. Whatever you’re having.”

 

Tony fixed them drinks and they sat in the club chairs near the window. Apart from the convenient location of the condo, a decent sized patio, and the large windows with a harbor view were the reasons Tony had bought this unit; it was bright during the day, and at night, the working harbor’s lights were a sight to behold.

 

Tony caught Rob sending surreptitious glances at his black eye. Before Tony could prevent him, Rob said, “I’m so sorry, Tony, about all of this.”

 

Tony raised a hand to prevent any further apoligies. “Look, Rob, I’m sorry as hell, too. I’m sorry that I was the one your brother chose to kidnap. I’m sorry my hands were still tied when he beat the shit out of me. And I’m really sorry that some people aren’t going to be able to see past the fact that you’re Frank Beals’ brother, and that it’s going to influence your career. But I’m not one of those people.”

 

Rob said desperately, “Don’t call him my brother. He was… _not_ my brother.”

 

Tony bowed his head and, after a pause, said, “The bottom line is that he made a huge mistake – both by committing the crime, and for coming to Mr. Gibbs’ home to finish me off. I am not sorry, however, that Gibbs killed him,” Tony said, somewhat defiantly. “But I am sorry because this must be hurting you really badly, and I know you don’t deserve it.”

 

“I’m sorry, Tony, that he hurt you,” Rob said, sounding very upset. “You _know_ I’ve avoided having anything to do with my mother for years, but she called me and told me that Frank was going off the deep end and I…I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to have anything to do with him.”

 

“I didn’t know the man who was holding me was your brother until afterwards, when the FBI told me, Rob. It’s…unbelievable.” Tony sighed and sat back, sipping his drink. For some reason he’d poured himself a bourbon, and he didn’t even like the stuff.

 

Rob hung his head and shook it slowly. “Frank kept phoning me. I’d hang up but he was persistent. I had to change my number more than once. I didn’t even give it to my mother but somehow she got hold of it. She called my office yesterday. She kept saying that Frank wasn’t responsible for his actions.”

 

Tony had to ask some difficult questions. Even though Rob had cut ties with his family, long ago, he might know something. “Was he influenced by someone? Did he have a partner? Or could he have pulled it off on his own?”

 

Rob stared at Tony, no doubt taken aback by the interrogation. “How would I know what he was up to? He was unstable, always trouble.”

 

Tony didn’t know what to call Rob’s mother when he spoke of her. She had never been a mother, in any natural sense, to Rob. “Did Mrs. Tozier know what Frank was doing, that he planned to kidnap me?” Tony coughed a couple of times, and then took a sip of bourbon. It seemed to calm the tickle in his throat, so he put up with the taste.

 

“How would I know? I cut her out of my life years ago, Tony. You know why.” Rob took a long pull on his drink and leaned back, covering his eyes with one arm. “Jesus.”

 

“Sorry, Rob, I’m not accusing you of anything but…”

 

Rob lowered his arm, looking angry. “But what? You think I knew that Frank was planning on kidnapping you? And I didn’t tell you?”

 

“No! Of course not. Look, Agent Fornell told me that my father knew your mother. We’re talking about 1970, before either of us was born. She worked on Dad’s election committee.” Tony watched Rob’s face and it was apparent this was news to him. Tony continued, “Agent Fornell also said that Mrs. Tozier phoned my father several times, before and during the time I was abducted. Frank called him, too.”

 

Rob’s mouth hung open. “Frank called your dad? Why? My mother knew…? I…you’re talking about people I don’t know, Tony. I haven’t had anything to do with my mother since I was sixteen, and then she phones me out of the blue. Frank would only call me if he needed money. I don’t know what motivated him! I wish I did know, and that I’d been there to prevent him but–” Rob was breathing hard, holding one hand to his chest, looking like he was having a panic attack.

 

Tony leaned forward and placed a hand on Rob’s shoulder, soothing him. “Hey, it’s okay. Take a moment…just breathe, Rob. That’s it…good. I’m not blaming you. I’m _not_ ,” he said truthfully. “Look, my dad never mentioned your mother, and when I asked him about their connection, he brushed it off as if it wasn’t important.”

 

Tony rubbed the back of his neck, wishing the muscle pain wasn’t starting up again. It had been bothering him ever since the kidnapping, and if it followed its usual form, the mild pain would get worse and severe muscle cramps would take hold unless he did something about it. Heat and meds were the answer. “Hang on, I need to take something,” he said, and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water so he could take one of the muscle relaxant pills Dr. Pitt had given him. The directions said he could take two of them. Deciding that if one pill worked, then two would work better, he downed two of them, and left the container on the counter. As he came out of the kitchen, he saw Agent Brown watching him, and Tony smiled and gave him a salute.

 

Once seated again, Tony picked up his drink and sipped it. The ice had melted a bit and the cool liquid felt good sliding down his throat. “My dad came by my office in DC yesterday. I asked him about his connection to your mother, and why, of all people, Beals had phoned him, and…” Tony ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “He said he had no idea, and then he started going on about how the FBI had dragged him downtown and interrogated him. He was not a happy puppy. I’m sure he’s already lodged a complaint with the Director of the FBI.” He rolled his eyes and he was pleased to see the corner of Rob’s mouth lifting a little in the beginning of a smile.

 

Tony had had enough of talking about the kidnapping and theorizing about Frank Beals’ reason for calling Senior. “You know what? I want to move ahead as if the past couple of weeks never happened,” Tony said. “We’ve got more important things to talk about, like getting this federal law against the conversion therapy passed.”

 

“You mean…you still want to work with me?”

 

Tony smiled, rolling up his sleeves. “Of course I do. How about something to eat? I bought a dish of lasagne from the Italian restaurant downstairs, and no way can I eat it on my own.” He was glad to see Rob relax, but then Rob’s eyes lit upon Tony’s wrists, which had become visible the moment Tony rolled back his sleeves. The bandages were gone, revealing the abrasions where the bindings had cut into his flesh.

 

“What did he do to you?” asked Rob. He stood, frowning in concern. “Tony…”

 

Tony rose to his feet, and prevented any further discussion or apologies by saying, “Hey, everything is healing. I’m fine. I’m fine, Rob.” Tony slung his arm over Rob’s shoulder. “C’mon buddy, I say we talk about something else…uh…sports and chicks, while we eat.”

 

“Sports and guys,” corrected Rob, with a relieved smile.

 

“To each his own,” Tony agreed, raising his glass. He finished off his drink. Before he followed Rob to the kitchen, he stopped to pour himself another tumbler of bourbon. “You want another?” he called out.

 

“No, I’m set.”

 

Tony slowly made his way to the kitchen, taking a drink of the bourbon as he went. His knees started to feel sort of wobbly, like they had when he’d been in the hospital, so he leaned on the counter as he moved around the kitchen. Rob helped him heat up the lasagna, but by the time they were ready to sit down, Tony’s head was swimming and his fingers…

 

“What’s the matter, Tony?” Rob asked, concerned.

 

Tony held up his hands and looked at his fingers. They were shimmering, like a mirage out in the desert. “My fingers…are…finging,” Tony mumbled. “It’s like a migraine…in my hands,” he said to himself, gazing at his fingers. He could see them moving but couldn’t feel them at all. Decidedly weird.

 

“Tony, are you okay? You look high. Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking this,” said Rob, taking Tony’s glass away from him.

 

“I don’t…I don’t feel right. I’m…Look at them…Do these look right to you?” Tony wiggled his fingers, fascinated by them, and maybe a little scared that they might walk away on their own, like Thing in _The Addams Family_. He was only partially aware of the sound of a buzzer, and then a commotion in the distance. Rob was trying to get him to sit, but Tony didn’t want to sit, so he twisted, getting annoyed when Rob didn’t let him go. “No, let me go. I don’t want to…”

 

“Get over here and sit down,” Rob instructed.

 

Tony pushed Rob away, annoyed. “No, get your hands off me…”

 

Suddenly Rob released him, and Tony saw Rob falling to the ground, as if in slow motion. Tony took an unsteady step towards his friend to help him up, but someone came up from behind and grabbed him around the waist.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

 

“What the hell’s going on here?” Jethro demanded. He went for the dark-haired man who was grabbing at Tony, and knocked him to the floor with a sweep of his leg and a well-placed push. Tony turned towards him, confused, and listed dangerously to one side. Jethro grabbed Tony around the waist, just as his knees gave out. “Hey, I’ve got you.”

 

Tony’s eyes were wide with fear, but the moment he recognized Jethro, he smiled broadly. Flinging his arms around the silver-haired man’s neck, he cried, “Jethro! Jeeeethro!”

 

The man on the kitchen floor was starting to get to his feet, angry and swearing, but Jethro wasn’t listening, he was so focused on Tony, who was acting like he was drunk. The FBI agent intervened, which was a good thing, because if he hadn’t placed himself between them, Jethro would have taken another shot at the guy. He could have done it, too, even with a heavy Tony in his arms.

 

“Who the hell are you?” demanded the dark-haired man, a fierce look in his eyes.

 

“You the one who got him drunk?” Jethro countered.

 

“I’m not…not drunk,” Tony insisted, with a burp.

 

“I’m his friend. I didn’t get him drunk. He only had one glass, and who are you to barge in and–”

 

The FBI agent placed a warning hand on the man’s chest and said, “Please, Mr. Tozier. Let me handle this.”

 

Tony got his legs underneath him, though he was still leaning heavily on Jethro. “Stop shouting…we’re dancing. We need some music if we’re gonna dance. You like dancing, Jethro? My fingers like to dance.” He blinked slowly, his eyes unfocused. “Oh…I think I’d better…sit…”

 

“Where’s the bedroom?” Jethro demanded, seeing that Tony was about to pass out any moment. The FBI agent pointed towards an open door across the hall, and Jethro got a good grip on Tony and half-dragged him in that direction. “You keep that man secure,” Jethro ordered.

 

“Who the hell do you think you are? Tony!” The young man was doing his best to get past Agent Brown, but the big man was as solid as a wall.

 

Brown took hold of Rob’s arm. “Take it easy, Mr. Tozier.”

 

“Take it easy? He hit me! He has no right!”

 

“Let’s sit down and take a deep breath,” Brown said firmly, directing the angry man to a kitchen stool.

 

Jethro didn’t listen to any more of their conversation. He was too concerned about Tony, who was so drunk his eyes were crossing.

 

“We goin’ t’ the be’room?” Tony asked, stumbling alongside his rescuer. “We goin’ t’ bed? I like bed. I’d like it even more if you’re in bed wi’ me, Jethro.”

 

“Just walk,” Jethro ordered. He was pissed at the FBI agent for not stepping in earlier, pissed at the man who’d gotten Tony drunk, and pissed at Tony for allowing it to happen in the first place. At that point, it sunk in that the FBI agent had called the man who’d had his hands all over Tony, ‘Mr. Tozier.’ Was that Robert Tozier? The brother of the madman who’d kidnapped and tried to murder Tony?

 

“What is Tozier doing here?” Jethro demanded of Tony, even though it looked like he wasn’t in any shape to reply.

 

“Who? Oh…Robbie? We’re best friends,” Tony said with a fond smile.

 

Jethro maneuvered Tony to the bed and pretty much dumped him on it. Tony pulled Jethro down with him, his arms still around his neck. He was grinning in a foolish way that made Jethro want to smile back at him and slap his head at the same time. He did neither, telling himself to remain in control. “You can let go now, Tony.”

 

“Noooo, don’ wan’ to.”

 

Jethro had a hell of a time extricating himself from Tony’s grip. Once he had peeled Tony’s arms from around him, he was able to step back and let out a big breath.

 

Tony was frowning and mumbling, “No…don’t go…have you seen my fingies? They’re flying aroun’ here somewhere…” Tony raised his head and looked around. “Where’s Rob? I’m thirsty.” He peered at Jethro and asked, very politely, “Would you like to stay for lasa…lasa…dinner?”

 

Jethro leaned over the bed, anxious that Tozier may have drugged, or even poisoned, Tony. “Tony, did Tozier give you something? He put something in your drink?”

 

Tony was getting grabby, his hands wandering all over Jethro’s body, tugging at his shirt like he wanted something. “Jeth…ro… Jethro?”

 

“I’m right here.”

 

Tony blinked a couple of times and then smiled. “Oh. Good. I had a really crappy week and you weren’t here… You di’n’t call. Di’n’t come over or anything. I called lotsa times…’n’ you nev’r answered me.” He pulled at Jethro’s belt and started fiddling with the buckle.

 

Jethro removed the insistent hand from his belt, and tried to get through to the inebriated man. “Tony, I need you to listen to me.”

 

“I’m list’ning. How’re the horses?” Tony laid a hand on Jethro’s thigh and looked up at him with heavy lidded eyes. “You goin’ home? Have t’ take care of ‘em…You’re good at takin’ care of horses. And people. People like me. Anyone ever tell you that?”

 

Disturbed by the hand on his leg, as well as his dick’s instinctive reaction to it, Jethro asked impatiently, “Tony, how much did you have to drink?”

 

After scrunching up his face, Tony held up one finger. “Twooo. One bourbon. And…twooo pills.”

 

“Jesus. What kind of pills, Tony?”

 

Tony acted as if he didn’t hear him. “I gotta get dinner…Rob ‘n’ me…Rob’s my friend, ya know. You wanna eat with us?” Tony rolled over, and had his legs over the side of the bed before Jethro caught him and pulled him back.

 

“Where you think you’re going?” Jethro called over his shoulder, “Hey, Agent…” Hell, what was the guy’s name? “Agent Brown!”

 

Agent Brown appeared in the doorway, alert, with his cell phone in hand. “Yes, sir?”

 

“You find out what he put in Tony’s drink?” Jethro barked. “And stop calling me ‘sir.’”

 

“Rob di’n’t give me anything,” Tony mumbled, squirming a little when Jethro laid a hand on his chest to get him to stay put.

 

“Mr. Tozier didn’t put anything in the Congressman’s drink, sir. I mean Agent Gibbs…Mr. Gibbs. I was in a position where I’d have seen it.” Brown looked worriedly at Tony and said, “Does he need to go to the hospital?”

 

Tony struggled into a sitting position and protested loudly, “Fuck no! No hos…hospital.”

 

Agent Brown eyed Tony while he said, “I saw Mr. DiNozzo take his prescription medication about half an hour ago.”

 

“With bourbon?” Jethro fumed.

 

Tony slapped Jethro’s chest a couple of times. “They’re jus’ pain pills. M’ neck hurt. Feels sooo good now.”

 

Jethro wasn’t going to believe that Rob Tozier was innocent until he had proof. “You talk to Tozier?”

 

“He’s in the kitchen, but–“

 

Jethro snarled, “But nothing! You go keep an eye on him until we sort this out. Hell, handcuff him to something. I’ll be there in a minute.”

 

Agent Brown left to keep an eye on Tozier.

 

Jethro turned his attention back to Tony, who was lying there with a bemused look on his face. Tony blinked slowly and whispered, “Jethro?”

 

“I’m right here, Tony,” Jethro responded, worried about Tony’s strange expression.

 

“Jethro…” Tony took a fistful of Jethro’s shirt, and before Jethro knew what was happening, Tony raised his head as he pulled Jethro down to meet him, and kissed him full on the mouth.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

There was something so heart-poundingly sexy about an angry, righteous Jethro Gibbs, that Tony wondered why he had never seen it before. Yeah, sure, he’d known that the man had an aura of strength and integrity about him that was incredibly compelling, plus he had that ‘don’t mess with me’ and ‘I’ll protect you at all costs’ vibe that made Tony want to stick by the man’s side forever.

 

When Tony had escaped from his kidnapper and ended up at Jethro’s farm, and Jethro had taken him in, Tony had somehow known that everything would be all right. Jethro had given him strength, and the hope that he was going to survive the experience, despite almost dying at the hands of a lunatic.

 

But this feeling that Tony was experiencing now, lightheadedness and a dry mouth coupled with his heart beating out of his chest, this was due to more than some alcohol and pills. Tony realized that this was a decisive turning point in his life, and that it had been brought about by Jethro Gibbs. Jethro was causing this turmoil, and whatever Tony was presently feeling for the man, it went way beyond being grateful or appreciative for sticking by him, and saving him from certain death. What Tony was feeling was something he’d never dealt with before – a deeply sexual, damn-the-consequences, all-out hunger, the kind that consumes you if you don’t give into its inexorable pull – and this desire was not for a woman, but for a man.

 

He didn’t plan the kiss. In fact, he’d never considered having a relationship with a man, not beyond the kind of connection he had with Rob, and they’d been friends for years. Was it true then, what they say? That you’re either straight, gay or lying? Okay, so Tony may have looked speculatively at Rob a couple of times, but in truth, despite the fact that Rob was handsome and funny, and smart, it had never entered Tony’s mind to go any further than checking out his ass a couple of times. And yet with Jethro it just felt so different, even though they’d only met on two occasions, neither of them being what you might call under good circumstances.

 

One thing Tony knew, that Jethro was important to him. Jethro moved him, touched his heart in a way he’d never before experienced. He was positive that this thing between them was not something that was going to go away, nor was it to be dismissed lightly.

 

It was as though he had awakened from a long slumber, and now he could see clearly, and maybe even accept that things did not have to be as they’d always been. The future didn’t have to be all mapped out, didn’t have to follow a prescribed set of actions. The possibilities were endless, and beautiful, and full of soft, enticing lips, Tony thought as their mouths met.

 

There was barely any hesitation before Jethro made a small sound, and angled his head, deepening the kiss. Tony accepted him with a whimper. With heat and desire, wet tongues slid between parted lips, hands explored, seeking and finding bare skin, smooth and unnaturally warm under layers of clothing. After a mere caress to his hair, Tony’s world narrowed. Blood pounded in his ears as Jethro’s hands clutched at his hips and pushed him into the mattress. There was nothing even remotely soft about the aroused body pressing against his own, all heavy muscle and bony knees. Fingers bit into his biceps, holding him in place as he squirmed in pleasure from the hungry, almost desperate kisses they were sharing. Aroused beyond measure, his hips rising off the bed to meet Jethro’s body, Tony moaned.

 

Jethro broke the kiss, pushing at Tony’s shoulders, panting, his eyes dark. Tony’s sound of protest seemed to break the spell. Jethro blinked a couple of times, and looking as if he just realized that he’d done something terribly wrong, he slid off the bed and stood there with a stunned expression.

 

The moment Tony started to speak, to plead with him to come back, Jethro turned and left the bedroom.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Work mode. Move right into work mode. That was the sensible thing to do right now. The _only_ thing to do. Jethro stood in the hallway only long enough to wipe his mouth and take a few deep breaths. Don’t think about Tony, or that kiss or…do not think about it. Okay, okay, he could do this.

 

Jethro strode into the kitchen and glared at Robert Tozier. Watching the man quell made Jethro feel better, justified. “Show me the medication he took,” he instructed Agent Brown, who was just lowering his cell phone from his ear.

 

Brown handed Jethro a prescription medication bottle. “DiNozzo took two. I saw him.” He swallowed when Jethro’s hard eyes met his own. “Agent Fornell wants to talk to you.”

 

Jethro squinted at the prescription label. Two tablets was okay, but there were dire warnings about dangerous interactions if taken with alcohol. “Damn it, Tony,” he muttered. He took the phone from the FBI agent and, after a brief conversation with Fornell, they agreed that Jethro would call Ducky for advice.

 

Jethro stood in the doorway of Tony’s bedroom so he could keep an eye on him while he called the retired ME. Apparently the combination of meds and booze had taken full effect; Tony was splayed out, snoring softly, not a care in the world. Jethro glared at the sleeping Congressman. “Needs a damned keeper.” As soon as Ducky picked up, Jethro relayed Tony’s status to him, speaking as succinctly as if he were working a case in the NCIS bullpen. He checked Tony’s pulse when instructed to do so, and counted his respirations. Neither seemed a cause for alarm.

 

Ducky said, “It sounds as though your friend has been through a great deal over the past days. He may be exhausted. Can you easily rouse him? If so, he may not need advanced medical assistance. I would treat this as you might a bad concussion.”

 

“Wake him every hour, you mean?” That would be preferable than dragging him to the ER. The press would have a field day with that: “ _Kidnapped Congressman Overdoses After Kidnapping Drama_.” Yeah, that would go down well.

 

“Exactly. If there is any sign of Mr. DiNozzo’s mental status deteriorating, or if his breathing appears shallow, call an ambulance. If not, then he will most likely come out of this with nothing more than a considerable a hangover in the morning.” Ducky offered, “I could make a house call…”

 

In the end, Jethro decided he’d call Ducky if he grew concerned. “Uh…Duck…”

 

“Yes, was there something else?”

 

Yeah, he’d made a fool of himself by kissing Tony, and he wanted more of the same. A lot more. Jethro shook his head. “No, there’s nothing,” he said with finality.

 

“I’m a night owl, so phone me any time,” Ducky said before hanging up.

 

Jethro told Agent Brown to keep an eye on Tony while he interrogated Robert Tozier in the kitchen.

 

Although Tozier, who was handcuffed to the stove, seemed scared of Jethro, he held his ground. “Tony’s my best friend. I’d never hurt him,” Rob insisted after Jethro accused him of being negligent. “I didn’t pay attention to what he was doing in the kitchen. I thought he was doing something with the dinner.”

 

“Why are you here?” Jethro demanded.

 

“Tony invited me for dinner. Look, we were just talking. I don’t know why you’re giving me the third degree here, Mr.–“

 

Jethro glared at Tozier, keeping his fisted hands at his sides. “Your brother kidnapped Tony. He beat him, drugged him, kept him chained to a filthy bed for days while he waited for the ransom money to come. And then he tried to kill Tony. _Your_ brother.”

 

“He’s not–“

 

“Why the hell would I trust _you_ to be within a mile of Tony?”

 

Tozier was staring at Jethro, apparently just realizing that he was facing the man who had killed his brother. “He was my half-brother,” Rob said in a taut voice. “And I had _nothing_ to do with him.”

 

Jethro studied Rob’s face for a minute. “You knew what he was up to,” he accused.

 

“No, no! I didn’t know!”

 

Agent Brown called from the bedroom, “Gibbs, you’d better get in here!”

 

Jethro rushed into Tony’s bedroom to find him puking into a trashcan that Agent Brown was holding for him. Trying not to strain his bad arm too much, Jethro helped support Tony until he was done, and then the two men got him on his feet and into the bathroom. They sat him on the toilet seat while Jethro ran a damp washcloth over his face.

 

In the bright lights of the bathroom, Tony appeared pale, and his eyes were still somewhat glazed, but when Jethro asked him, “Hey, you with me?” Tony nodded and said in a rough voice, “I hate bourbon.”

 

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t seem to like you much, either,” Jethro replied. He kept a hand on Tony’s shoulder, as he was swaying slightly. There was some vomit on Tony’s shirt, and Jethro figured that this would be a good time to get Tony into something clean. Agent Brown found some loose sweats and a comfortable tee, and assisted in dressing Tony.

 

When Tony’s torso was bared, Jethro felt Agent Brown stiffen at his side, and he realized the man hadn’t seen Tony’s many bruises before. After ten days or so, the bruises that spread across his chest and ribs, as well as his neck, were yellow and brown, some a greenish hue. All told, they did not look good.

 

Despite his inebriated and drugged state, Tony caught on to Brown’s discomfiture, and patted him on the arm. “’S okay. Doesn’t hurt…any more.” He turned his eyes on Jethro as soon as they’d finished changing him, and said, “Gotta pee.”

 

“I’ll help you stand. Get his some water and Tylenol,” instructed Jethro. He got Tony positioned in front of the toilet, and when he was done, was able to steer him back to bed without any help. Agent Brown returned, and handed Tony the glass of water and pills. As soon as Tony had taken them, he collapsed in bed with, “Night,” mumbled into his pillow.

 

Brown looked at Jethro and gave a big sigh. “So, who takes the first watch?”

 

“How about you get Tozier the hell out of here, and I’ll stay?”

 

“I don’t know about–“

 

Jethro got in Brown’s face. “I may not be a federal agent any longer, but I am armed, and believe me, I’m more than capable of protecting this man.”

 

Agent Brown took a moment, but he nodded in agreement. “I’ll make sure Tozier gets home, as soon as another agent arrives. Fornell’s orders.”

 

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere,” Jethro said.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

 

Jethro had checked on Tony several times during the night, rousing him from a deep sleep, which was not easy, although light head-taps seemed to do the trick. Tony managed to mumble replies to Jethro’s questions before going back to sleep each time. They weren’t necessarily accurate, but he spoke lucidly enough to satisfy Jethro.

 

Agent Brown returned around midnight, relieving Agent Braunmeir, and settled down on a couch in Tony’s den, close to the front door. He shared re-heated lasagna with Jethro sometime around two, and looked in on Tony afterwards, but otherwise left them alone.

 

Jethro ended up sleeping next to Tony in the big, extremely comfortable bed, though not by design. He started out propped up against the headboard, reading, but after taking some buffered aspirin to ease the pain his arm was giving him, he dozed off. When he woke up around 0700, it was to find Tony snuggled up next to him, his cheek against his chest, one hand clutching at his undershirt. The feeling of warmth that rushed through Jethro’s body had nothing to do with the heat emanating from Tony’s body, nor from the blanket that was draped across his legs. It was a good feeling, a little like the way he had felt when he’d woken up next to any one of his former wives, only better. Unable to fight it, he sighed and stroked Tony’s hair, and when Tony mumbled and drooled a little on his chest, Jethro found himself smiling.

 

But Jethro knew this wasn’t right, and that he was taking advantage of Tony’s drugged-up state, so he gently extricated himself from Tony’s hug, and rose from the bed without disturbing him. On a table in the hallway, he saw the red Marines hoodie he’d brought with him as a gift for Tony. He picked it up and considered taking it with him. In the end, Jethro returned to Tony’s room and draped the hoodie over the end of the bed. Softly, he said, “So long, Tony,” and left.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

 

Tony wished he were dead. His head was splitting, an ice pick was jabbing at his eyeballs, his tongue felt thick, and _everything_ hurt, from his brain right down to his toes. Tony avoided looking at his pasty face in the mirror while he made a clumsy attempt to smooth down his bed-head hair. “Ow,” he groaned as he touched a sensitive area on his head. Even his hair, which refused to lie down, hurt, right down to the roots.

 

Served him right, mixing bourbon and medication. Apparently someone had summoned a doctor, a physician with a British accent who had chastised him in a firm but kind tone. It had barely been light when Agent Brown had ushered him in. Tony had grunted and put up with the doctor’s ministrations, and he’d gone back to sleep the minute the man had left.

 

Tony staggered into the kitchen around ten, eyes barely open, and Agent Brown joined him. He handed Tony a cup of coffee, and related a succinct version of what had gone down the night before. Rob Tozier had visited. They’d had a long conversation and drinks. Tony had taken some pain pills and when he’d acted drunk, Rob had tried to help him. Brown said carefully, “You were being difficult.” Gibbs had arrived unannounced and had thrown Rob to the floor.

 

Tony had a vague recollection of Gibbs being angry, taking it out on Rob.

 

“Mr. Gibbs thought Mr. Tozier had slipped you a roofie,” said Agent Brown. “He stayed to keep an eye on you.”

 

Jethro had stayed? Things were still fuzzy; he couldn’t remember the details of what had occurred. Tony slouched at the breakfast bar with his head in his hands, and managed to whisper hoarsely, “Sorry to cause you trouble.” He felt like a teenager again, hung over and guilty the morning after he and his friends were caught raiding his father’s liquor cabinet.

 

Brown laughed a little. “Not the worst I‘ve ever seen. Probably the weirdest though. You thought your fingers were aliens or something?”

 

Tony blinked heavily. “Oh. Fingies. Yeah. That happens.”

 

The FBI agent poured Tony a big cup of coffee, and said sympathetically, “Looks like you need this.”

 

Tony was partway through the coffee, which stayed down despite his sour stomach, when he peered at Brown and asked in a quiet voice, “Was there…a doctor here?”

 

“Oh yeah. Dr. Mallard. He said you need to push liquids and do _not_ take anything other than Tylenol,” Brown said with a brief, sly smile.

 

Tony carefully nodded. He had a feeling there was something Brown wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t have the energy to ask. He drank a glass of water, more coffee, and downed a pair of Tylenol with another glass of water. Then, slowly, he made his way to his bathroom in order to clean up.

 

It wasn’t until Tony was in the middle of a long, hot shower and feeling halfway human again, that it suddenly hit him – he’d kissed Jethro! Tony covered his eyes with both hands and moaned, “Oh DiNozzo, you didn’t! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!” What had he been _thinking_? God, how embarrassing – far worse than almost ODing and acting all loopy. Now he’d never be able to face the man again. What must Jethro think of him? In frustration over doing such a stupid, impulsive thing, Tony banged his forehead against the tiled shower wall. “Ow!” Okay, that was not a good idea.

 

He rubbed his forehead and turned off the water. It was not going to be easy, but he was going to have to make this right. Apologies and explanations were in order. At least Rob would probably be understanding and forgive him. Jethro, he wasn’t so sure about. Only…hadn’t Jethro stayed all night? And woken him up at regular intervals, to make sure he wasn’t going to die on him? Or was that a hallucination like seeing his fingers floating around the room?

 

He had to eat something before he phoned Rob to apologize. Tony knew that if it hadn’t been for him getting drunk, Jethro never would have accused Rob of spiking his drink. Jethro, he deserved an apology, too, a big one, but Tony didn’t feel up to facing the music. Not yet, anyway. He’d have to work up to that, and it was not something he was looking forward to.

 

Tony stepped out of the shower, dried off, got dressed, and went out to find something for breakfast that would be sure to stay down.

 

            ~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~           

 

A few hours later, Tony opened his door to Agent Fornell and invited him in with a sweep of his arm. “Something to eat or drink?” he asked, getting himself a glass of cool water.

 

Fornell looked around the industrial style kitchen, his eyes passing over the steel and granite, to hone in on the coffee maker. He inhaled deeply. “That smells like the good stuff.”

 

Tony smirked as he poured Fornell a mug of the rich coffee. “Now, why did I even ask? Coffee is like nectar to cops.”

 

They sat in the living room, facing each other in comfortable armchairs. Tony drank some water, and wished he was still in bed, enjoying the ignorant bliss that came with sleep. His head and body aches had improved, but he was still feeling a bit out of it. The only thing that had lifted his spirits, when he dressed earlier, was finding a red hoodie neatly folded on the chair next to his bed. He had picked it up and found it had USMC emblazoned on the chest. It wasn’t new, and when he had lifted it to his nose, Tony had detected a faint smell of sawdust. That Jethro had remembered to bring him a replacement for the hoodie they’d cut off him in the ER, made it all the more special.

 

Fornell was eying Tony’s sweatshirt over the rim of his coffee cup. “You joining the Marines, Congressman?”

 

Tony looked down at the USMC sweatshirt, and smiled tiredly. “Jethro brought it over. They cut the other one off me in the hospital.”

 

“You look beat,” Fornell observed.

 

Tony sighed and raised his glass of water to the FBI agent. “Apparently it’s a good thing I don’t remember much about it.” He knew he had been stupid, mixing pills with alcohol. His extremities had felt like they belonged to someone else, his head had felt huge and unwieldy, and he had acted like a horny 18-year-old. God knows what he’d said. “I hear that Jethro almost killed Rob. He thought he’d dosed me with something, but I want to make it clear that it was all my fault.”

 

With a mild shrug, Fornell said, “No harm done. I had a word with both Robert Tozier and Gibbs. Ruffled feathers are all smoothed over now.”

 

Tony’s heartbeat accelerated just at the sound of Gibbs’ name. Of course Agent Fornell wouldn’t know about the impromptu make-out session he’d had with Jethro, although Tony was pretty sure that Agent Brown had been present when he had thrown up and passed out soon afterwards. Doing his best to summon his smooth, sincere Congressman persona, Tony said, “I talked to Rob a little while ago and we’re good. But thank you for calling Mr. Gibbs. I doubt that smoothing his feathers is as easy a task as you make out.”

 

Tony had already phoned Rob that morning, concerned about the way Jethro had knocked him to the ground. Tony had apologized to Rob about the evening-gone-wrong. After Rob had taken Tony to task for being such a dumbass for taking pills with a bourbon chaser, he had ended up making fun of the way Tony got loopy so easily. “You’re a cheap drunk, DiNozzo.” They’d laughed a bit, and then, just like that, everything was back to normal between them.

 

Rob had said, “I guess I shouldn’t be too mad at Gibbs. He was watching out for you. Of course I would have preferred it if he hadn’t come storming in like an angry bull and stomped on me.”

 

“Yeah, he’s a bit like that,” Tony had agreed.

 

“All alpha, and with that military and Navy cop background? Recipe for trouble…or for a great time in the sack,” Rob had joked.

 

His heart pounded as he wondered if Rob knew something about the lip-lock he and Jethro had exchanged. Tony decided to play ignorant. “Why, are you fantasizing about being taken down by a Marine?”

 

With one eyebrow raised, Rob had said, “Uh, no. I get the feeling it wasn’t me he was interested in, Tony.”

 

Tony had given a laugh of disbelief. “You think he’s interested in me? No way, not like that. I’m just some politician he rescued and got saddled with. I’ll be eternally grateful, but that’s as far as it goes.”

 

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, but the man stayed with you last night, didn’t he,” Rob had said with a laugh. “Are you really okay?”

 

Tony wondered how Rob knew that Jethro had volunteered to be his night watchman, but assumed his friend had overheard Jethro and the FBI agent talking. “My head’s pounding away and I think I licked a carpet or something equally gross, and there are some blank spots in my memory. Reminds me of our frat house days.” He was about to add that he hadn’t been coughing much when it started up; it took a minute before the coughing ceased. “I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” he assured Rob.

 

Rob heard the tiredness in Tony’s voice because he wound up the call, saying, “Go make yourself one of those disgusting DiNozzo Defibrillators. Call me tomorrow when you feel better and we can set up a meeting to go over our next move with the Stop Harming Our Kids resolution, okay?”

 

Now, with Fornell looking at him like he thought Tony was a bit of an asshole, Tony wondered if he was becoming his father despite his best efforts to the contrary. “I’m not like him,” Tony blurted without thinking.

 

“Like who?”

 

Wishing he’d kept his mouth shut, Tony gave a one-shouldered shrug and said quietly, “My father, the hard-drinking Senator who doesn’t think twice about throwing his weight around. The guy who expects other people to clean up his mess, and they do it.”

 

Fornell looked slightly taken aback. “I never thought you were like him.”

 

“Oh. Good.” Tony tried to smile, and it wasn’t easy. “I seem to be on a roll here, doing stupid things, ever since…” Tony sighed and couldn’t continue.

 

“You’ve been through a lot in a short time, Congressman. I’ll give you a little leeway. And, for the record, if Jethro Gibbs thinks you’re worth fighting for, then you can’t be all bad,” said Fornell, looking like he meant it. “Dr. Mallard says you’re lucky someone was here last night, or you might have come to what he called ‘a sticky end.’”

 

Tony nodded, admitting he was lucky. “Oh yeah, I got a lecture from the doc before the sun was even up. Is he…one of yours?”

 

Fornell laughed loudly and shook his head.

 

“What’s so funny?” asked Tony.

 

“Dr. Mallard – we call him Ducky ­– he’s the Medical Examiner at NCIS.”

 

“You mean…he’s…Jethro must have thought I was in a bad way if he called the ME,” Tony said, smiling even if it really wasn’t funny.

 

Fornell waved a dismissive hand. “Those guys at NCIS get injured all the time. Hot dogs, always jumping into the middle of the fray. Ducky patched them up on a regular basis, so he has had some experience with live people.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” said Tony, exhaling loudly, a bit unsettled at being examined by a man who handled the dead.

 

Now that it had been brought up, Tony found he had a vague recollection of being woken up several times in the night, and swearing at whoever was roughly shaking his shoulder. Had that been Jethro? There was also something about Jethro lying on the bed next to him. Was that possible? Tony had a feeling he’d rolled over and had wantonly draped his arm around Jethro’s waist, resting his head on his chest so he could listen to his heartbeat. Talk about embarrassing. It was unlike him to be so clingy, though to be fair, he had still been under the influence of the drugs and booze, and wasn’t exactly accountable for his actions.

 

What he did remember, surprisingly clearly, was grabbing Jethro and dragging him down for a long, heartfelt, impulsive kiss. What had come over him? And what did Jethro think of him now? He was sure that Jethro had kissed him back, had held him tight while he’d plundered his mouth with his tongue and…Why had Jethro done that, reciprocated as he was enjoying the kiss? It had been all Tony’s fault for starting it, and now he was beyond embarrassed, and wondered if he could leave the country so he’d never have to face the man again.

 

There was something about Jethro that had invited him to get close, physically close. The man exuded strength and protectiveness, both admirable qualities, thought Tony. But being physical with another guy, actually lip-locking with a man – was so unlike him that Tony wondered if this was some kind of weird reaction to the trauma of his abduction. Maybe it was a way of regaining the feeling of control and confidence that had been stripped away from him. Maybe he was really into men and had been denying it for all of his adult life, and the kidnapping had triggered a latent sexual preference he had never acknowledged. Or maybe he’d simply been drunk and didn’t have a clue what he was doing.

 

He remembered more than just the act – Tony remembered the taste of Jethro’s mouth, the feelings he’d had, of desire and need, and a deep connection. But had he imagined all of this, perhaps as the result of a drug-induced hallucination? Was this a reaction to stress, lack of sleep, maybe PTSD from the kidnapping?

 

Dr. Pitt had said it would take time before he would feel normal again; getting back to work, doing his usual routine, should help him to adjust. He was right, in that distractions would help. When he was busy, with work or with people, Tony didn’t think quite so much about the time he’d spent chained to a bed in the trailer, not knowing if he was going to be killed at any given moment.

 

There were times when something triggered a memory, though. He’d get a flashback, suddenly thinking he could smell the damp and mildewed trailer, or that he could taste the cloying strawberry-flavored drink he’d been forced to drink, that had turned out to be laced with drugs. All it took was a glimpse of the colorful bruises marring his body to make Tony feel sick. He’d thrown up a time or two before he’d learned not to look at them, not to think about the hand striking his chest, or the cold linoleum of the kitchen table pressing against his chest when a rough hand on his neck forced him down and…No, he didn’t want to, didn’t _have_ to think about any of that ever again. It was over. Dome with. The bastard was dead. He had to concentrate on rebuilding his life now, on moving on, and making the changes he’d already set in motion.

 

Tony listened with half an ear as Fornell suggested precautions he should take when the protective custody ended. It wasn’t as though Tony didn’t already know all about evasion tactics, and the importance of alternating routes and schedules, etc. – it was all in the _How to Avoid Being Kidnapped Manual for Dummies_. Hell, Tony had taught those very techniques to dozens of people during his stint with Global Elite, as well as when he’d had his own risk management company. But if he was so knowledgeable, then how was it, he asked himself, that he'd been snatched off his front doorstep like some wide-eyed tourist who had mistakenly wandered into a bad neighborhood? They must think him an incompetent fool – the FBI, his own father, Wendy, even Jethro – and although it pained him to do so, Tony had to agree.

 

Tony realized that Fornell had asked him a question, more than once. “Sorry, just thinking.” Tony put on a self-deprecating smile. “Delving into dangerous territory. You were saying…?”

 

“Do you want me to put you in contact with a private agency?”

 

“I’m sorry…”

 

Fornell put the folder he’d brought on the coffee table between them. “I’m suggesting you might want to hire someone for your own peace of mind, Congressman. We’ve closed the case, and as of tomorrow morning, my agents will no longer be on protection detail.”

 

Tony swallowed hard. This wasn’t unexpected, but thinking about the FBI agents pulling out left him feeling oddly vulnerable. “I have to commend all of your agents for keeping my family safe. I appreciate it even if I’ve given you a hard time, Agent Fornell.”

 

“Let’s hope our services aren’t needed again,” said Fornell with a nod.

 

“Are there going to be any repercussions from Jethro killing…Frank Beals?” It took some effort to say the man’s name without stuttering.

 

“No, he’s been cleared,” Fornell said.

 

“Good. Good. So…what’s in the folder?”

 

Fornell tapped the folder with his finger. “You’ll find an overview in here, the conclusions of a thorough investigation. We are confident that Frank Beals acted on his own, and was solely responsible for planning and carrying out the kidnapping. He employed a teenager he met at his mother’s youth center to pick up the ransom money, but the kid didn’t know the full story about what Beals was up to. Other than that, Beals had no accomplices. He has no record of having committed a crime before, although he has been hospitalized several times for mental health issues.

 

“During the course of his planning and carrying out your abduction, Beals contacted a lot of people with strong political or social agendas. We questioned every one of them and they all said basically the same thing: Beals spouted anti-gay, anti-government sentiments, and demanded various actions, including the removal of many key government figures, and threatening the people he phoned with dire consequences if they didn’t pay attention to him. He had an issue with believing he wasn’t being heard. Our analysts surmise that Beals chose to kidnap you because you are a prominent and well-thought-of political figure in the limelight, and holding you for ransom would get him the attention he was seeking.”

 

“So I was just a pawn? He chose me out of the blue?”

 

“We don’t have any reason to believe otherwise,” Fornell confirmed.

 

“My stance on LGBT issues is well known,” Tony reasoned. “Plus he may have known, or known _of_ my father, correct?”

 

“Senator DiNozzo denied any connection with Frank Beals,” Fornell reminded him.

 

“But Beals called my father within hours of when he received the ransom,” Tony said, frustrated.

 

“He called a dozen other people in the hours prior to calling your father, before the ransom money was delivered, Tony. I don’t want you going around being paranoid, thinking that you did anything to invite Beals to target you. I think that you were available, and as I said, well enough known that he knew grabbing you would garner a lot of air time.”

 

“Great, so I’m Mr. Popular and an easy mark, that what you’re saying?”

 

Fornell sat back with a patient expression.

 

After a minute, Tony said, “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

Tony coughed a few times, drank some water and gave a big sigh. “Did you know that, years ago, Mrs. Tozier outed Rob by telling reporters that not only was Rob gay, but he was a failure as a person, and she'd given up on him long ago. She declares that everyone who supports putting an end to conversion therapy is going to Hell. Rob says his mother made really big bucks off conversion therapy courses, for years, but all the negative attention about how bogus it is has put a serious dent in her income.” Mrs. Tozier was a piece of work, and even if she didn’t have a direct hand in the kidnapping, Tony could just see her inciting her mentally unstable son, Frank, to do her dirty work. “Are you certain she didn’t know what her own son was doing, the son who was so volatile she watched him like a hawk?”

 

“Tony…” Fornell cautioned, shaking his head.

 

Tony sat forward in his seat. “That’s not all. I know what my dad’s like, and if he worked with Marian Tozier when she was young, you can pretty much guarantee he screwed her. Maybe she’s holding a grudge.”

 

“After all this time?”

 

“I thought you’d been divorced, Agent Fornell. Does time make any difference in the way your ex treats you?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Point taken. But what you’re saying is far-fetched, DiNozzo.”

 

“Maybe Mrs. Tozier is afraid that my dad is going to speak out against her, and her political career is going down the drain, and she thought she’d get some kind of leverage by holding me hostage,” Tony said, knowing it sounded implausible. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on between them, but my gut says it’s something. Besides, it’s expensive to run for office, and a few million in ransom money would certainly help finance her campaign.”

 

“Enough!” Fornell raised a hand to stop Tony from speaking further. “I questioned Mrs. Tozier every which way, and investigated her thoroughly, and I got nothing on her. I agree, her practices are questionable, but everything she does, with the church and this therapy, is currently legal. Even if she and your father had something going on, it was years ago. I honestly don’t think she was part of any plot to take the DiNozzos down. Look, take my advice, Tony, and let this go. The man who did this to you is lying six feet under. He’s not coming back. He can do no more harm. Just…get on with your life. Enjoy your family.”

 

Tony sighed and after a minute he said, “You’re right. Believe me, I need to…I plan to get on with my life.” Tony thought that that was the end of their conversation, but Fornell looked as though he had something to say, yet didn’t want to broach the subject.

 

After clearing his throat, Fornell finally spoke. “I wasn’t going to bring this up, Tony, because with Beals dead, this isn’t going to trial.”

 

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this,” asked Tony, smiling a little to try to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere in the room.

 

“I shouldn’t have poked my nose in your hospital records,” the FBI agent admitted, “but I wanted to see if there was any mention of something.”

 

“Of what exactly?” Tony asked, getting annoyed. “C’mon, Fornell, I’m a big boy. I can take it.”

 

“Your clothing was collected from the scene…from Gibbs’ house.”

 

Tony remembered Gibbs helping him remove his wet clothing and giving him dry things to wear after he’d taken a hot shower. He’d left his wet things in a heap on the floor, as far as he knew. Gibbs must have picked them up. Police procedure 101: collect everything at the scene of a crime even if you’re not sure if it can be used as evidence. “Gibbs gave you my clothes,” he said slowly.

 

“The evidence went directly to the FBI forensics lab.”

 

All of a sudden, Tony knew what Fornell was humming and hawing about. Tony shook his head. No, no. “Don’t. You don’t have to–“

 

There was an understanding look in Fornell’s eyes. “They tested everything. The lab results from the clothing you wore when you first arrived at Gibbs’ home showed that there was semen in the pants, and–“

 

Tony rose to his feet, shaking. He’d told himself, again and again, that it didn’t matter. Nothing had happened. He blurted out, “It’s none of your business.”

 

“Calm down, Tony. Calm down. Please,” Fornell said, motioning with his hand for Tony to sit.

 

Tony remained standing. He could feel his legs shaking. “It is _none_ of your business.”

 

“The doctors who examined you didn’t note there being any sign rape,” Fornell said evenly.

 

Angry beyond words, Tony snapped, “H-he didn’t…He _didn’t_.”

 

Fornell nodded and kept his calm gaze on Tony’s face. “That’s good, that’s good, Tony.”

 

Tony didn’t like the sympathy he saw in Fornell’s eyes. “Don’t you look at me like that! I’m not a fucking victim!”

 

“I know you’re not, Tony. You’re strong and–.”

 

“Then don’t talk about things you don’t know anything about!”

 

“Tony…”

 

“No! Get out. Get out!” Tony said, barely keeping control. He desperately wanted to strike out at Fornell, but somehow managed to keep his fists by his sides.

 

“Okay.” Fornell rose slowly, his hands held out in a submissive pose. “I’m going.”

 

Unable to respond, Tony nodded, refusing to meet Fornell’s eyes.

 

When Fornell was at the door, he turned and said mildly, “Put it behind you, son.”

 

Tony waited until the FBI agent was gone, then moved into his bedroom. He sat on the bed, blindly staring out the window for a long, long time.

 

            ~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~           

 

Alone once again, Tony poured himself some milk and managed to eat a couple of pieces of toast. He eyed the cold lasagna in the fridge but it turned his stomach.

 

No matter who was behind his abduction, whether it was one man, now deceased, or a collaborative effort, Tony was angry at himself, and deeply embarrassed, for being snatched from right outside his own home, for being made a victim. He still couldn’t remember the actual kidnapping, and he'd been drugged for much of the time he'd been held by Frank Beals, but he could still feel the sense of hopelessness and debilitating fear that rushed in and consumed him, sure that any minute he was going to end up in a shallow grave, and his family would never know what had happened to him.

 

It was obvious that he’d become soft, having spent too many hours sitting in a cushy chair in his office for the past six years. Well, the job would be coming to a finish at the end of the year. He was ready to move forward, to make the necessary changes. He _refused_ to be a victim. Tony swore that he would never again let his guard down.

 

            ~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~           

  


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

 

Tony drove around aimlessly. He hadn’t driven his car in almost two weeks, and if he hadn’t been so preoccupied, he would have enjoyed it more. The vehicle itself wasn’t flashy; he’d been driving a hybrid for a while, its finest feature being the sunroof. Long gone were the days of Camaros and Mustangs, but Tony found driving any car along back roads with the music on was a sure way of clearing his mind.

 

This time it didn’t work so well. “Maybe I need a new car, something sporty,” he muttered, when he’d been driving for a couple of hours, and he was just as uptight as when he’d set out.

 

Tony pulled in at a diner and ordered a club sandwich. He couldn’t eat much, no matter how hard he tried. The waitress asked if there was something wrong with it, looking insulted. No, he replied, giving her an apologetic smile. He slipped a generous tip under the plate and left before she could say anything more.

 

Tired, and not wanting to go back to his condo, Tony sat in his car in the parking lot and called Wendy. At least she and Zack were safe at her parents’ home.

 

Wendy answered impatiently. She was working on an assignment for the paper, and couldn’t talk to him right now. “It’s bad enough Mom keeps knocking, asking if I need anything.”

 

Tony could sense her eye-roll. He asked, “How’s Zack?” Wendy’s dad loved Zack, but he had trouble getting around and his conversation was limited to golf these days.

 

“He’s bored. Watching too much TV.” Wendy told Tony that as soon as the FBI took them home, later that day, she was sending Zachary to stay at his friend Albert’s house. It was all arranged. Tony didn’t ask where Wendy would be after she’d packed their child off to the friend’s home.

 

Tony sat in his car for a while, slumping down in the seat. It was warm and he was close to falling asleep, but his thoughts kept buzzing around in his head, giving him no chance to rest. He had to sort things out with his father. He’d agreed to have dinner with him, but hadn’t made a date. He couldn’t face him right now. It was always such an effort talking with his dad. Senior was one of those people who just knew they were right, no matter what. Sort of like Wendy, Tony realized, smiling wryly, even though it really wasn’t funny. Without much thought, he dialed Jethro’s number, his cell this time, and was surprised when Jethro picked up on the second ring.

 

A gruff voice said, “Gibbs.”

 

Tony smiled. “DiNozzo.”

 

There was a moment of silence and then Jethro asked, “You okay?”

 

Tony cleared his throat. “Right as rain. The FBI has closed the investigation. Apparently it’s safe for me to be alone again. No more bodyguards. I’m supposed to keep the eyes in the back of my head open though. Stay away from dark alleys.”

 

“Don’t go running alone,” Jethro warned.

 

“Guess I need to find a running buddy,” Tony said, wondering how he was going to ask Jethro when he could see him again. He started coughing and it was a couple of minutes before it was over.

 

“You need to take care of yourself,” Jethro said, sounding concerned.

 

“I know. I’m trying.” When no more words were forthcoming, and the silence between them started to become uncomfortable, Tony got up the nerve to ask, “You know how you said I could come around any time?”

 

“Still stands,” Jethro said without hesitation.

 

“Do you think I can take you up on that invitation now?”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

When Tony turned into the drive and got out at the gate, he stopped to look around. Seeing Kelly Brook Farm for the first time in broad daylight felt like coming home. He’d never imagined it was so beautiful. Before, during the storm with only lightning for illumination, he’d only had a vague idea of what the property looked like. There had been an impression of dark, rain-drenched fields and no neighbors for miles, and a hulking great barn, the kind that serial killers buried their victims in. He was glad to see that his imagination had been overactive, fed by watching too many slasher movies.

 

Several horses grazed knee-deep in spring grass just beyond the big gray barn, raising their heads to see who the visitor might be. The handsome old house was perched on a rise, just as it had for the past 150 years, its white clapboard and weather-worn bricks set off by large, gleaming windows. Knowing that this was Jethro’s home, and that he was there, waiting for him, gave Tony a warm feeling. After navigating his car through the gate – having to get out to open it and then close it once he’d driven through – Tony parked near the barn. As he got out of his car and stretched his back, he had to give himself a pep talk in order to look towards the large front porch where Jethro had shot and killed Frank Beals.

 

To his amazement, the entire front porch of the house was gone. It looked as if it had been ripped off by a bulldozer. Tony didn’t have to be in construction to know that it was going to take a huge amount of work to repair it. There were temporary support beams holding up the porch roof, because the columns were gone, and the entire floor of the porch had been removed, leaving nothing but soil and building rubble in its place.

 

“What the hell?” Tony muttered.

 

From behind him, a rough voice said, “The trouble with these old places is, once you start pulling up a board or two, half the damned house needs to be replaced.”

 

Tony turned quickly, his mouth agape, and found Jethro standing there with a smirk on his unshaven face. He was wearing loose jeans and a thin blue cotton shirt with rolled-up sleeves that was soaked with sweat. Bits of straw clung to his clothing and there was something that looked suspiciously like poop stuck to his boots. Tony, whose heart was beating a mile a minute, could only get out, “You…you…your house…the porch…”

 

“I thought they taught you public speaking in college,” Jethro said.

 

Tony laughed in relief. “Guess I failed that course. Too busy playing sports. What made you do it? Termites?” They walked in the direction of the building project but Tony halted a good distance away, unable to go any closer.

 

Jethro stopped by his side. He scratched his unshaven jaw and squinted at his house. “Nope. Not termites. Rats,” he said, not cracking even a hint of a smile.

 

“Wow. Lots of them?” Tony asked.

 

“One was enough, but he’s been exterminated. No point in having any reminders,” Jethro said, nodding wisely.

 

It hit Tony that Jethro had removed the entire porch as a way of getting rid of any evidence that Beals had ever been there. He was pretty sure that Jethro hadn’t done so just for himself, which left Tony speechless that Jethro would go to all this trouble for him. “No,” he said softly. “We don’t want any reminders.”

 

Jethro wiped his forehead with his forearm and glanced sideways at Tony. “Hot day. I could do with a beer.” Without asking Tony if he wanted to join him, Jethro headed for the house, going around to the side porch. Smiling, Tony followed him, staying on his six.

 

Tony settled at the kitchen table and looked around, remembering the stormy night not so long ago, when he’d sat in this very chair while Jethro had bandaged the cut on the back of his shoulder.

 

Jethro sat down and handed Tony a bottle of cold beer. “You healing up okay?” he asked, looking at the vestiges of bruises on Tony’s face and neck.

 

“Oh yeah. Sometimes my neck muscles act up. Otherwise…”

 

“Your cough seems better.”

 

“I’m okay,” Tony said, making light of it. Jethro nodded and Tony asked, “How about you? Is your arm all right? I see you’re not using the sling.”

 

Jethro flexed his left arm a little. “Shoulder is gonna be a pain no matter what I do,” he grumbled. “I’m better if I use it. Just have to be careful when I lift anything heavy.”

 

“Have you thought about hiring someone?”

 

“Money doesn’t grow on trees.” Jethro must have realized how curt he sounded, because he added, “Good news is, some folks have asked about renting the carriage house out back. They don’t have enough acreage of their own, and want to expand their operation. They sell what they grow to fancy restaurants.”

 

“And you have plenty of land,” Tony surmised.

 

“I have enough to lease two other twenty-acre sections as well. This family, they have a couple of teenage daughters, both horse crazy. We’ll see if they can do the stalls and feeding, maybe talk a trade of some kind.”

 

Tony took a few swallows of his beer; the cool liquid felt good sliding down his throat. Jethro did the same, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. For some reason, that simple act turned Tony on, like nothing else. Jethro met his eyes with an intensity that Tony didn’t know how to handle. He dropped his gaze and fiddled with the label on the bottle, afraid of what he might reveal if he looked into Jethro’s eyes again.

 

Jethro knocked back the rest of his beer and stood. “So, you want to meet the horses or what?”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Tony was excited to finally meet the horses that were in Jethro’s care. There were six of them. Chevron was a small bay with a dark mane and tail. Jethro said he had filled out nicely since he’d come to visit. The gelding had been neglected, and Jethro cautioned that he didn’t like anyone reaching for her head. “Same with all of them. Move slowly, pay attention to their ears, and watch you don’t get stepped on, in those fancy loafers of yours.”

 

Jethro loaned Tony some boots, just in case, and they entered the field with Jethro carrying a bucket containing a few apples.

 

BigBoy was like his name – big. He was a dappled grey with a large head and gangly legs with big knees. Jethro reprimanded Tony for calling BigBoy ugly. “Even if he is…not pretty…we don’t judge ‘em by their looks.”

 

Great White was another large horse, who laid back his ears when Jethro and Tony approached, even though they were a good twenty feet away. “Great White? Let me guess…he bites,” said Tony, warily watching the horse.

 

“He won’t,” said Jethro, holding out an apple and waiting patiently for Great White to approach. “Attaboy,” Jethro said softly, when the horse munched the apple and left slobber all over his palm. Jethro turned his head and smiled at Tony. “He’s really a sweetheart. I’ve ridden him; he’s slow but steady. You want to give him an apple?”

 

Tony’s instinct was to say no, but Jethro was watching him, almost as patiently as he did the horses, so Tony agreed. He wondered what it would be like if Jethro was to reward him with an attaboy and scratch him behind the ears. Really nice, he expected.

 

Jethro pulled a knife out of a sheath on his belt, and cut another apple into pieces. He laid one in Tony’s palm, and immediately the horse went for it. The feeling of the horse’s tongue on his palm made Tony laugh. Great White snorted when he was done, and startled Tony when he nodded his head vigorously.

 

“It’s okay. He doesn’t want Madagascar to get too close,” Jethro explained, as a couple of smaller chestnut-colored horses approached and got pushy. “Madagascar has the white face. He’s a mustang; that’s why he has a number tattooed on his neck. Nacho’s a mustang, too. They both came from people who meant well but couldn’t handle them. They’re about ten years old. Now Rocky, he was abused, and he kicks up a fuss when I halter him, but we’ve come to an understanding.” As soon as the apples were gone, and Jethro had made a point of touching every one of the horses, the big animals dropped their heads to graze, and slowly moved away.

 

As they walked among the horses, Jethro told Tony about their backgrounds, and what kind of people who might be a good match for which horse. Tony was impressed by the way Jethro handled these beautiful animals so well, how he seemed to understand them and appreciate each one as an individual. That he was gentle and caring showed in his touch, the way his hand slid along the back of one horse, how the horse with the v-shaped blaze on his forehead dipped his head and encouraged Jethro to pat his neck, and then shook his mane and softly nickered.

 

“I think he’s laughing at me,” Tony observed.

 

Jethro gave a small smile of his own. “Ya think?”

 

“How can you part with them when the time comes?” Tony could see the bond between Jethro and this horse, Chevron, was strong. If any of these animals were his, thought Tony, he’d never be able to give them up, not even if he knew they were going to the best of homes.

 

Jethro looked over the horses munching contentedly on the grass. “That’s how the system works. When one of my visitors moves on, another one will come to stay for a while. I’m glad to have a chance to help them out.” Jethro’s eyes lingered on Chevron, and Tony had a feeling that when the time came, it was going to be tough for Jethro to say goodbye.

 

By the time the afternoon sun was dipping behind the trees, Tony had been won over by the horses, and the way Jethro treated them with affection and respect. Jethro opened the gate, and closed it securely after Tony had slipped through. They walked side by side to the house, taking their time, and when they were almost there, Jethro asked, “Want to stay for supper?”

 

“Um, I should be getting back,” Tony replied, thinking of all the work he had to do, to prepare for a week in DC.

 

Jethro nodded and opened the screen door, saying nonchalantly, “I’ve got homemade apple pie and ice cream.”

 

Tony squinted at the sky as if deciding whether or not to stay. “Depends. What kind of ice cream?”

 

Jethro shot him an irritated look. “Coffee ice cream, DiNozzo. Now, you coming or not?”

 

With a wide smile, Tony dropped all pretense of being disinterested. “Coming, Jethro.”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

They sat on hard metal chairs on the patio off the kitchen. Jethro brought out two mismatched bowls with gas station logos on them, and handed one to Tony. It was, as promised, coffee ice cream. For the first time since he’d returned to ‘life,’ as he thought of it, Tony was hungry. He not only polished off two slices of pie with extra helpings of ice cream, but he also had a glass of white wine. It was from a local vineyard, Jethro said. He’d bought several bottles during a fundraiser put on by the Maryland horse rescue community.

 

The last time he had seen Jethro, Tony had been loopy on pills and bourbon. He had acted like a horny teenager, had acted…badly. Jethro hadn’t mentioned it, nor had he said anything about the way he’d stayed all night to take care of him. Tony knew he owed the man an apology, at the very least, and this was as a good time as any. He put his wine glass aside and cleared his throat. “Jethro? I want to thank you. For being there, taking care of me. I had no idea what a stupid thing I’d done until the next morning. And by that time, you were gone.”

 

“And which stupid thing was that?” Jethro asked, turning to look directly at Tony. His expression was impassive.

 

“Drinking. I don’t usually mix and match my drink and drugs.”

 

“I should hope not,” Jethro replied dryly.

 

“It said I could take two on the label,” Tony said, knowing it was a weak excuse. “I tend to get sort of…wacky when I take pain pills, so I should’ve been more cautious, but my neck muscles were cramping up and…” He rubbed the side of his neck; the muscles were taut right now, but not bad. He caught Jethro frowning at him, which brought out a sheepish smile. “I’m sticking to over-the-counter pain meds from now on.”

 

“Wacky, huh? You always go overboard like that? Dancing around and thinking your fingers have fallen off?”

 

“I did?”

 

Jethro nodded.

 

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t know what it is about my fingers. They seem to take on a life of my own when I get like that. They feel strange, like they’re tingling, sort of disconnected.” It wasn’t easy to explain so Tony shrugged.

 

“Your mouth takes on a life of its own, too,” Jethro pointed out.

 

It was getting dark out and the only light was from the kitchen window behind them, so Tony was pretty sure he saw the corner of Jethro’s mouth lifting in the hint of a smile. He had a strong feeling that Jethro was just pretending to be annoyed. Tony said with a little laugh, “Yeah, I tend to babble.”

 

“I wasn’t talking about you babbling, though you did that, too.”

 

“What’re you…? Oh…you mean…” Tony laughed uncomfortably, his fingers touching his lips, almost of their own accord. “Did I…”

 

“You kissed me,” Jethro stated.

 

Tony felt a blush rising and was glad it was dark. “Hey, I must have been joking around. You know me.”

 

“It didn’t feel like a joke,” said Jethro, his voice hardening slightly.

 

“I didn’t mean to…”

 

“You planted one on me, Tony,” Jethro said sharply.

 

Tony snapped back, “Well I was little stoned, okay? It was a mistake. Won’t happen again, Officer Gibbs.” Tony moved as if to get up but Jethro caught his arm, his fingers circling his wrist. It didn’t hurt but it was a firm enough grip that Tony knew he’d have trouble extricating himself. Only he didn’t want to. Jethro’s hand was strong and warm, and the message, ‘I am the boss,’ came through loud and clear.

 

Jethro leaned forward, his face so close that Tony could feel he warmth of Jethro’s breath against his cheek. Jethro asked, his voice low and rough, “You sure it won’t happen again?”

 

It didn’t seem as though retreating was an option, so Tony retorted, “I seem to remember you kissing me back. And lying on the bed with me. That _was_ you, wasn’t it?”

 

“Who the hell else did you think it was? Someone had to wake you up every hour, make sure you were still breathing,” Jethro countered.

 

Tony tried not to pant too obviously, but this was turning him on, this back and forth, the way Jethro was so close that he could breathe in his masculine scent. Wishing he could see Jethro’s features, his mouth more clearly, Tony licked his lips. “Guess I was lucky you were there then.”

 

To his surprise, and then dismay, Jethro chuckled and released his wrist.

 

Tony immediately held onto his wrist with his other hand. The bandages had been removed days ago, and the cuts and abrasions from being tied up during the kidnapping had healed. Now all he could feel was the ghost of Jethro’s touch, the residual warmth, and a tingle that was probably his imagination. What was going on with him that he wanted Jethro to hold him in his firm grasp again? That he wanted a repeat of that heated kiss that had left him moaning and wanting more? That he wanted Jethro…a man.

 

Jethro saw Tony holding his wrist and his smile disappeared. “Damn it. Did I hurt you?”

 

Tony shook his head. “No.” His voice came out as a whisper.

 

“You sure?”

 

Tony nodded. Jethro gently took his wrist and held it up to catch the light, and after a brief inspection, he seemed satisfied.

 

Slowly, Jethro reached out with one hand and stroked Tony’s hair, lingering for a moment. His palm caressed Tony’s neck and then his hand dropped away, leaving Tony speechless and close to trembling. Jethro nodded and said absently, “Good. I didn’t mean to grab you there. I wasn’t thinking.”

 

Tony couldn’t help pointing out, smiling weakly, “I guess it’s pretty easy to get caught up in the moment.”

 

Jethro bowed his head for a moment, and then smiled back at him. “Guess so.”

 

Something seemed to settle between them, a deeper understanding perhaps. A barely voiced attraction that they both acknowledged. Whatever it was, Tony was glad his actions hadn’t scared off Jethro. Having the older man as a friend was good, but this moment they’d shared seemed to be the beginning of something bigger, something long-lasting, Tony hoped.

 

“Maybe we should go inside,” Tony suggested, not sure where this was going.

 

“There’s no hurry,” Jethro replied, and so Tony nodded and they sat there, close but not touching, until it grew late and the stars came out, and their thoughts turned to mundane things, like washing up and making sure the barn door was closed securely for the night.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

 

“Damn it, Son, you cannot be going through with this!” Senator DiNozzo’s fist crashed on the linen-covered table, making the silver and crystal tremble.

 

“I am, Dad, and I stand by my decision. I’ve already handed in my formal resignation. It’ll become public in a few days.” Tony watched the struggle going on in his father’s mind, Senior’s desire to shout tempered by the fact they were sitting in one of the best restaurants in Washington, with several of Senior’s cronies within earshot.

 

“How can you throw this all away?” Senior shook his head, disappointment written all over his face. “You are one of the few young men in politics with a clean record, who is in a position to climb to great heights…”

 

Tony zoned out as his father went over all the reasons why he could not – must not – give up his political career. Instead, Tony kept glancing at Jethro Gibbs, who was sitting at the bar, watching him right back.

 

“I’ll keep you in my line of sight at all times,” Jethro had promised, pulling at his tie.

 

“Stop fiddling. You keep making it crooked, ruining perfection,” Tony had said good-naturedly. He’d already straightened the tie, which seemed to be choking the man, twice already.

 

“Yeah, well, I don’t like the situation,” Jethro had grumbled.

 

“It’s dinner with my father, not a drug bust. You’re not going to get me all wired up with a mic and one of those earwigs, are you, Special Agent Gibbs?”

 

“That’s not such a bad an idea,” Jethro had retorted, apparently serious.

 

Knowing that Jethro was there to keep an eye on things gave Tony confidence. Until he’d walked into the restaurant, he hadn’t known how much the crowded place would affect him. The walls loomed as if closing in. Everyone seemed to be staring at him, and he started sweating before he’d even been ushered to his father’s table. Tony had tried to do an about face, but Jethro had taken hold of his elbow and steered him into the men’s room.

 

Once there, Jethro had calmed him down. “I’ll be within a few feet of you at all times. You sit with your father, say what you need to say, and we’ll leave whenever you want to. You can walk out at any time, Tony. You don’t need his permission. If you need my help, you just raise your hand. I’ll be watching. You got that?”

 

Tony had glanced in the direction of his father’s table. “Jethro?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Will you really help in me in any way I want?”

 

“Yeah,” Jethro had replied warily.

 

Screwing up his features, Tony had squirmed a little and asked, “You think maybe you could hold my hand and walk me over to Dad’s table?” The headslap had not been unexpected, but a second after delivering the light slap, Jethro’s fingers had ruffled the back of Tony’s hair. Tony had protested, “Not the hair!”

 

“Get in there. I’m gonna be watching you,” Jethro had said, giving Tony a firm push in the right direction.

 

Tony had done as he was told, and when he’d looked over his shoulder to confirm that Jethro really was keeping an eye on him, he’d found Jethro watching his progress with a small smile.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

“Junior? Are you listening to me?” Senior turned to see what Tony kept looking at. As soon as Senior spotted Jethro he waved his hand, inviting him over. “Why didn’t you tell me your Marine was here?” Senior rose to greet Jethro like a long-lost friend, and made a big deal out of thanking him for saving his son. Several of the restaurant patrons actually applauded, and Tony enjoyed the sight of his tough Marine/NCIS agent friend blushing to the roots of his silver hair.

 

Tony stood beside Jethro and nudged his shoulder with his own. In an undertone, he said, “I’ll bet you’re the kind of Marine who doesn’t turn up at his own awards ceremony.” The way Jethro stared at him made Tony smile, knowing he was right on the money. He stepped away from Jethro in order to face him and join the applause. “Thank you, Jethro Gibbs, for what you did,” Tony said sincerely, loudly enough so everyone could hear him.

 

Jethro acknowledged Tony’s gratitude by dipping his head a little, but he soon escaped, heading back to the comparative safety of the bar.

 

“Mr. Gibbs should join us for lunch,” Senior was saying, looking as though he intended to go after Jethro and drag him back to their table.

 

“Stop torturing the guy, Dad,” Tony said, still smiling. He realized at that point that his initial misgivings about entering the crowded restaurant had faded to nothing. The feeling that the walls were closing in on him had pretty much gone, and he was hungry for a change.

 

Tony ate most of the steak and potato on his plate, and politely refused any wine, instead sticking to sparkling water. After talking politics for a bit, Tony said thoughtfully, “You know, Dad, I used to believe that being in the public eye made people honest. I know, hopelessly naive. I soon found out how wrong that belief was.”

 

“You were so bright-eyed, I didn’t want to discourage you. Seems a long time ago,” Senior said, shaking his head.

 

“Yeah, well, I learned to cover up everything I was feeling, and soon excelled at deflecting and avoiding,” Tony replied with a tight smile. “Putting on a mask became such a habit that it affected every relationship I had, including the one I had with you.”

 

“We’ve always managed to get along,” Senior said, waving a hand dismissively.

 

“No. No, we haven’t, Dad. I’m really good at being undercover. I love being someone else, and have since I was a kid. It’s real rush sometimes, a great escape. That’s why I took every undercover job I could when I was a cop. For two years running, I was always someone else. But there comes a time when you just have to say, stop, I can’t deal with this any more. I didn’t even know if I what I was feeling was real or not. It’s like I’m shortchanging everyone, me, you.”

 

“We can’t go around letting people know what we’re really thinking,” said Senior. “Especially in politics.”

 

“There are times it makes sense, like not telling the whole story to avoid hurting someone, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I immersed myself in being this…this fake person, Dad. I _became_ him.”

 

“That’s ridiculous. You’ve always shown your feelings. And everyone loves you, Anthony. You’re the man Senator Thurston calls when he needs a golf buddy. You’re the first on the list when any of the DC ladies has a gala and needs an emcee. And I swear every member of the Senate asked me, every day, how you were doing, after the kidnapping. These people care about you, and that kind of good will can’t be bought, son.”

 

Tony sighed. “I know but I…I feel numb, like that’s not the real me. I just don’t enjoy what I’m doing, and I believe I can do better, achieve more if I work outside the political arena. I’m really good at investigation, threat assessment, teaching people…”

 

Senior refused to hear it. “You can take a little time off. Everyone will understand. And then next year you can run for the Senate, and…”

 

“No Dad. I need to get back in the field, to stop sitting on my complacent ass.” Tony didn’t say so, but he was sure that if he’d been at the top of his game, Beals never would have been able to sneak up on him and overpower him. “I’ve done this job the past six years, and I believe I’ve done it well, but the way I look at it, I’m going to continue working for the same causes, but without having to toe the party line. There’ll be another person taking my place, one who I am positive is going to do a far better job than I ever did. And I can tell you without any doubt that they’ll enjoy doing it better than I have been.”

 

“Son, if this is because of everything you’ve been through…You’ve been going to counseling?“

 

No, he hadn’t, unless you counted Agent Fornell as a counselor, but Tony wasn’t about to tell that to his father. “I made this decision before any of that happened. You know that. I admire you, Dad, and the work you do, because nobody truly knows how much of yourself you put into it, and all the weighty decisions you have to make. But it’s your life. It’s not mine. Not any more.”

 

“Anthony…”

 

“No, Dad,” Tony warned. He looked over towards where he knew Jethro was on guard, and saw the older man had stepped forward. Tony gave Jethro a slight nod, just to let him know everything was all right and he didn’t have to come running to the rescue.

 

Although Senior backed off trying to talk Tony into remaining in politics, and instead they talked about what Zack had been up to lately, Tony could tell that his father wasn’t going to let this go. Eventually, he asked something that had been at the back of his mind for a while. “Dad, what did you mean, in the hospital, about taking care of everything?” Senior seemed taken aback, and explained he’d made sure Tony was taken care of, that was all, but Tony wasn’t buying it. “Don’t kid a kidder,” Tony said.

 

Senior fiddled with his drink for a minute. “I went to see Marian. To make sure you remained safe, you understand.”

 

“Marian _Tozier_?” Tony felt his heart rate speed up.

 

With a vague wave of a hand, Senior said, “Look, I had no way of knowing if she’d a hand in what her son had been up to, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Did you ever meet Frank?”

 

Feeling sick to his stomach, Tony retorted, “Well, yeah, Dad – I met him when he _abducted_ me!”

 

Senior quickly said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…I meant _before_. Even when Frank was a sniveling kid, I pegged him for being…disturbed.” Senior signaled the waiter and a fresh drink. “You sure you don’t want something stronger?”

 

“Wait a minute…You knew him, as a kid?” Tony couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

 

“Well, I used to get together with Marian a couple of times a year,” Senior said, the small smirk telling Tony exactly what those get-togethers had entailed. “But that stopped a long time ago. I’d bump into her sometimes, and little Frankie was always hanging onto her. That kid was a little shit, and he didn’t improve any with age. He let the brake off my new convertible and it ran down a hill and ended up in a culvert. The kid couldn’t have been more than eight. I know he did it on purpose! Anyway, the other day, I went over to that youth center Marian runs and had a talk with her.” He took a big gulp of his drink as soon as the waiter put it in front of him.

 

From his dad’s pained expression, Tony gathered the meeting with Marian Tozier hadn’t gone well.

 

Senior continued, “I told Marian, in no uncertain terms, that if I ever found out that she had anything to do with my son’s abduction, I’d personally see that she was ruined. That’s when she lit into me about how I should have supported her political career. Funded her, she meant. Ha! Not me! Hell, I had no idea she was so tightly wound, or I never would have approached her. As soon as Marian started spouting Scripture as political slogans, I got out of there.”

 

Still trying to digest that his father had gone out of his way to confront Marian Tozier, Tony asked, “You think she was part of it?”

 

“I think her son was a loony tune, and that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Senior said, taking another sip of his drink. He sighed deeply. “I don’t think she’d raise her hand against you…or me…but I still wouldn’t turn my back on her,” he warned.

 

Tony had heard enough and he was tired, both physically and mentally, and Jethro was waiting patiently for him. He suggested, “Maybe we can take Zack on an outing. You know, something he’ll remember years from now.”

 

For a minute, Tony thought his father was going to brush him off, but Senior said gleefully, “I know, Junior, we can take him to a Civil War reenactment, and show him how to carry the bucket!”

 

Tony couldn’t help laughing along with his father. He thought Zack might just find the whole thing, carrying the poop bucket, hilarious. Tony stood and so did his father, and they hugged, a real hug – but then there were eyes upon them so maybe it was all an act on his father’s part, Tony thought cynically.

 

He only had to look around and Jethro was at his side, asking, “You okay?”

 

“Let’s get out of here,” Tony muttered. They made their way out of the restaurant as speedily as they could. Once in the car, Jethro asked him if he wanted to stop somewhere for a drink, just to wind down, but Tony slowly shook his head and asked, “Can we just go home?”

 

“Home with me?” Jethro asked, a light in his eyes telling Tony that he was fine with the idea.

 

“Yeah, back to the farm,” Tony said, smiling tiredly.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Despite living a busy life, Tony spent as much time as possible at Kelly Brook Farm. He only slept at his condo in Baltimore a handful of times, when he was afraid he’d fall asleep at the wheel on the way to the farm. Jethro always welcomed Tony in a friendly, casual manner. He treated him as if he were part of his family, expecting him to pull his weight and help with the chores. They ate home-cooked meals in the kitchen, and after stabling the horses for the night, they’d fall asleep in front of the TV, shoulders barely touching.

 

Neither of them brought up the steamy kiss they’d shared, nor mentioned how Jethro had taken care of Tony, staying with him all night long. That night was often on Tony’s mind, though. He remembered the kiss, and the immediate, intense desire it had sparked in him, but still, it was unsettling that he had made a move on a guy in the first place. After all, he _was_ the man who had chased every skirt in high school and beyond, right up until the day he asked Wendy to marry him..

 

Tony had never considered starting a relationship with a man, and he couldn’t even think about having sex with one, not even if that man was Jethro Gibbs. Not that there was anything wrong with playing on _that_ side of the fence, if you were so inclined. Jethro was _definitely_ attractive in a protective, gruff, take-charge kind of way, and he had already proven to be a damned good kisser.

 

Yet it hadn’t been Jethro who had instigated that kiss, and even now, Tony didn’t have a clue what had prompted him to grab Jethro had get hot and heavy with him. Was he bisexual, in denial? Tony shook himself, trying to stop thinking about the whole thing. It was driving him crazy. Things were fine as they were, Tony told himself. It was good, them being friends with benefits of a different kind. He didn’t want anything more than friendship. This was all he could handle right now.

 

Tony still had bad dreams about the kidnapping, some of them pretty bad, and all of them featured Beals coming after him like a crazy killer out of a slasher movie. That these dreams also starred Jethro Gibbs was not surprising, as he played the part of Tony’s rescuer. The problem was, Jethro did not always get to him in time. All too often, Tony would get shot or stabbed, or Beals would wrap his hands around his neck and choke him to death, and he’d wake up with a start, in a cold sweat, clutching at this throat and gasping for air.

 

Tony would totter down the hall to the bathroom in bare feet, trying not to wake Jethro. He was always a little surprised when he looked at his reflection and found that there were no bruises on his neck. He’d feel the pain though, and the dreams would feel real, making it difficult to get back to sleep. A couple of times he’d come out of the bathroom to find Jethro waiting in the hall. He’d remain at a distance, and wouldn’t say anything, though even in the dim light Tony could see the question in his eyes, the ‘are you all right?’ Tony would conjure up a weak smile and mumble he was good, and even though he’d turn his back on Jethro and head to his room, Tony found comfort knowing the man was looking out for him.

 

The dreams occurred less frequently over time, and became a bit less intense. Tony never stopped long enough to seek out counseling, and he managed to brush the subject aside on the few occasions he had to see Dr. Pitt for a checkup. Tony had had his fill of shrinks when he was a troublesome teen, as well as enduring a few psych evals during his time as a cop. He wasn’t about to let any mental health professional root around in his brain, certainly not deep enough to understand the real Tony DiNozzo, so why waste everybody’s time? Besides, he was fine.

 

Jethro never pressured Tony to get closer, and he seemed to have no expectation beyond companionship. Tony wasn’t sure if Jethro was bisexual or perhaps merely curious, because he had definitely returned Tony’s drunken kisses with fervor that suggested he wasn’t exactly straight. It was impossible to tell from his demeanor. Being in the military and then at NCIS for so many years, it was likely that Jethro had become expert at concealing a preference for men – if he even had such a preference. But Tony’s senses told him that, even if Jethro might be interested in men – or perhaps just in Tony – he had never acted upon such an inclination. And if Tony occasionally saw something in Jethro’s expression that looked like interest, as soon as Tony met his eyes, it would change into something far more neutral.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

On a bright, sunny day in June, Tony picked up Zack and took him to Kelly Brook Farm to meet Jethro. Tony had discussed it with Wendy beforehand, as he always did before he took Zack anywhere. Her primary concern had been about Zack’s safety, but Tony had been able to assure her that you couldn’t get any safer than being with Jethro Gibbs.

 

However, on the drive over, Tony got himself all worked up, picturing one of the horses stepping on Zack’s toes, or imagining that his son might “get trampled in a freak stampede, or maybe even fall out of the hayloft and get impaled on a pitchfork…or something,” as he revealed to his son. There was also the concern that Zack and Jethro might not get along. Jethro would seem somewhat imposing to a ten-year-old kid. Zack was generally easygoing, but he sometimes took an immediate and enduring dislike to certain adults. They’ll hate each other, Tony thought desperately.

 

“Dad, cut it out.”

 

“Cut what out? I’m not doing anything.”

 

Zack rolled his eyes. “You’re overthinking things.”

 

“Are you feeling okay? You look a little flushed. Do you have a fever?” Tony reached over and tried to test his son’s temperature with a hand to the back of his cheek.

 

Zack warded him off. “Keep your eyes on the road, Dad! Sheesh!”

 

“Maybe we should go home,” Tony suggested, preparing to pull over and do a U-ey.

 

“Oh my God, you are being such a freakazoid. I’m fine. I don’t have a fever. I want to go to the farm and meet Mr. Gibbs, without any drama,” Zack said, being the voice of reason. He looked sideways at his father. “How did you even become a cop, Dad, if you’re so afraid of everything?”

 

Tony raised his chin. “I’m _not_ afraid of everything. I’m only afraid of everything that might come along and hurt you,” he said, as if that were the most reasonable thing in the world.

 

Zack relented, saying in a calming tone, “Take my advice, Dad, and let it all go.”

 

“I can’t,” Tony replied, thinking of all that was at stake here.

 

Tony needn’t have worried. Jethro was very patient with Zack, slowly introducing the boy to the big animals. He let him ride Nacho, while making sure he was safe at all times. Zack nodded earnestly at all of Jethro’s instructions, and by the end of the day, he was at ease with the horses, and followed Jethro around like a puppy.

 

But boys will be boys, and before the weekend was over, Zack fell out of a tree and mashed his elbow, and Jethro had to practice first aide on him with Tony hovering and practically in tears. Zack and Jethro exchanged glances, and rolled eyes, and ended up having a group hug in order to pacify Tony. At one point, Zack got himself accidentally locked in the 3rd floor attic and was there for an hour before anyone discovered he was even missing. Jethro conducted a methodical search (while Tony was on the line with the police to issue an Amber Alert), and it was Jethro who heard Zack banging, and let him out. When they weren’t looking, Tony’s son brought a boxful of baby chicks and one angry mother hen into the house to play with. After all the fowl were rounded up, and returned safely to the henhouse, everyone helped clean up the resulting chicken shit.

 

After they ate dinner, Jethro sat Zack down and, with Tony looking on, proceeded to tell him the rules.

 

“There are rules?” asked Zack, pulling a face.

 

Jethro nodded. “There are rules for people to live by, and some for horses, too.”

 

“Horses have rules?” The little boy thought that was funny; so did Tony.

 

“Sure they do. Rule number one: making a racket doesn’t make things happen any faster,” said Jethro. “Number two is don’t poop in your water bucket.” Zack threw his head back in laughter and Jethro said, “Seriously. BigBoy does it all the time.”

 

Tony chimed in, speaking from experience, “How about: don’t pee in the fresh bedding the minute I finish cleaning your stall. And don’t pull your hay out of the hay rack and toss it all over the place like it’s a game.” That had Zack in stitches.

 

“Now, this rule is for us people, and it’s important,” Jethro said directly to Zack. “Don’t leave any door or gate open, because an open door is an invitation for the horse to bolt.”

 

“D’you have to chase them if they get out?” Zack asked, his eyes wide.

 

“Yes, you sure do!” Tony said loudly, making both Jethro and Zack turn their heads to stare at him. “Take it from me, it isn’t easy running down a horse that’s just discovered freedom, and doesn’t want to come back anytime soon.”

 

Jethro said, “I saw you running all over the place the other morning. Thought you were doing some fancy fitness program.”

 

Tony sent him a sour look. It had taken him an hour to get three of the escapees back in their stalls, and he’d been seriously out of breath by the time he was finished.

 

“I thought you liked jogging, Dad,” Zack said, grinning.

 

“Smart-aleck,” Tony retorted.

 

“Have you learned to shut the barn door now?” Jethro asked Tony.

 

Sheepishly, Tony replied, “Yes, I have, Teacher.”

 

“But the most important thing for us to remember,” Jethro said, meeting Tony’s eyes, “is that these animals rely upon us to take care of them. If you’re gentle, and show them love, they’ll be your best friend. They’ll love you right back.” He turned his eyes towards Zack. “Think you can do that? It’s a big responsibility.”

 

Zack nodded solemnly.

 

Tony smiled, seeing his son alongside Jethro, knowing that he was in good hands.

 

Jethro finished up by saying, “Okay then. How’d you feel about helping me and your dad feed the animals, and then we’ll heat up the fire pit out back and get some cowboy steaks on the grill. I’ve got some baked beans.”

 

“Are we going to have a farting contest?” Zack asked excitedly, looking expectantly at his dad.

 

Jethro sent a questioning look to Tony, who stifled a laugh. “Uh, movie reference. I’ll explain it later.”

 

Zack walked next to Jethro as they made their way to the barn, looking up at him. “Can you tell me the people rules?”

 

Jethro scratched his chin and said, “Let’s see…number one is: never let suspects stay together. There are a lot of them. They’re all numbered.”

 

Zack pulled a face. “Do we have to memorize these?”

 

“No. You just learn them as you go along.”

 

“What’s number two?” asked Tony, teasing.

 

Jethro said, without missing a beat, “No movie references to movies I haven’t seen.”

 

“Okay. Out of curiosity, how many movies do you think you’ve seen in your lifetime, Jethro?”

 

“Other than crime scene videos? Two.”

 

“Only two?” both Tony and Zack asked at the same time.

 

Jethro nodded. “Yup. _She Wore a Yellow Ribbon_ and _Shane_. When we’re done here, DiNozzo, you get the grill going. Little DiNozzo, you rustle up some potato chips and drinks.”

 

Zack tugged on his father’s hand and said in a loud whisper, “Dad, I think we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

All through the summer, Jethro and Tony did guy stuff together whenever they had free time. ‘Doing guy stuff’ – that was their official description of the activities they took part in, if anyone asked. They attended a polo match at the Fairmeadows Polo Club near Leesburg, took in a couple of Oriole’s games, toured a historic ship, and served pancakes at the Veterans’ Center every other Sunday morning.

 

Senior arranged to go with Zack and Tony to a re-enactment at the Antietam National Battlefield, but he phoned at the last minute to postpone.

 

“You’re canceling?” Tony asked, fuming.

 

“Postponing.”

 

“It’s called canceling, Dad.”

 

“Postponing. I intend to take my grandson to a re-enactment later on.”

 

Tony hung up on him.

 

“What’s so important he cancelled?” Jethro inquired, not looking at all pleased.

 

“He’s flying to the Caymans on business,” Tony replied unhappily.

 

“So what’s stopping the three of us from going?”

 

Tony asked, “You sure you want to go? I don’t want to make you…”

 

“You think I ever do anything I don’t want to?” Jethro demanded.

 

“Guess not.” Tony smiled. “This is going to be fun.”

 

Tony ended up revealing to Zack that he had been the bucket carrier at the Civil War re-enactments Senior had taken him to as a child.

 

“Did Grandpa carry a bucket, too?” asked Zack.

 

“Er, no. He was a general, and they don’t carry buckets,” Tony replied, elbowing Jethro in the ribs when he laughed at him.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Tony helped around the farm on his free days. He wasn’t a great carpenter, and he really didn’t like shoveling horse shit, but if Jethro asked him to do something, he couldn’t refuse. Jethro wasn’t shy about giving Tony jobs he thought he could handle, but mostly Tony helped with repairs and general upkeep, and held the tools while Jethro did the skilled work.

 

The day usually ended with a hearty meal of steaks and potatoes, or an Italian dish Tony either made or bought. After they’d cleaned up, they enjoyed a movie on the big screen TV that Tony had set up in the living room without asking permission, “because you _cannot_ watch Will Smith battle aliens on a 15” screen, Jethro.”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Part of the rescue horses’ regimen was to get a lot of hands-on time, and it required more hours more than Jethro could give them. Upkeep of the farm buildings and paperwork associated with the rescue never ended. A few of Jethro’s friends – mostly people he’d worked with, now retired – came by to help with the horses. There were volunteers, too, like the students in a class that Moira was leading, called Women and Horses. They’d walk the horses on long leads, do simple ground exercises, and groom the horses so they would get used to being handled. Every bit of support from these good people was welcome, as far as Jethro was concerned.

 

Jimmy Palmer came to do worming and gave free veterinary services. Tony liked his sense of humor and willingness to gossip. In return, Jimmy showed Tony how to clean the horses’ hooves, even if it scared Tony a bit to be handling such a large animal.

 

Dr. Mallard – Ducky – turned up by late at night sometimes, saying he was passing by, or claiming he was a night owl. He would ramble for ages – Tony loved hearing the older man’s stories – but at some point the doctor would disappear into another room with Jethro. When they’d emerge, Ducky would politely say goodnight, and as soon as the door closed behind him, Jethro would mutter under his breath about interfering old doctors looking for trouble. He’d then go and bang in some nails or do something to vent his frustration.

 

One rainy Sunday, Tim McGee came by and spent a couple of hours working with Jethro on his finances. Afterwards, Tim stayed to watch a ballgame on TV with them, and Tony wheedled some stories of ‘the good old Gibbs days’ out of him, when Tim was a probie and scared of messing up and Gibbs was a team leader not to be messed with. It was obvious that Tim held his former team boss in great esteem, and would talk about his recent cases with him for hours on end.

 

“Do you miss them? Or the job?” Tony asked Jethro, the next day while they leaned over the fence and watched the horses peacefully grazing.

 

“Sure, I miss some of the people. I liked doing interrogations. Felt a sense of accomplishment when I cracked a suspect, knowing I was doing good. We had our share of bad days though,” Jethro said vaguely. He scratched Chevron’s cheek when he came over for attention, and said in a quiet voice, “I have dreams about cases. The people in them…they get mixed up. I’m running after a perp and there’s Kate and Ziva by my side.”

 

“Kate?” Tony was dying to hear more, but Jethro shook his head and wouldn’t talk any further.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15**

 

Every now and then, Jethro would drive down to DC to go on some kind of outing with Tony: music in the park, a trip to a shipyard, taking in a ballgame – all things they liked to do together. They’d eat dinner out, somewhere casual, maybe go to a sports bar, and end up back at Tony’s apartment.

 

Tony had been renting a compact 600-square-foot studio at the Saratoga ever since he’d been elected to public office. It was for when he stayed late in town. “It’s very convenient. You fall out of bed and into the toilet,” Tony joked. There was no couch but the bed was large, so the couple of times Jethro stayed over, the two men shared the bed. Both times, Tony had had enough to drink that he fell asleep easily, even though he knew that Jethro was only inches away. He wasn’t sure what Jethro felt about sharing a bed. He had never hesitated to slide in beside Tony, but he did comment that Tony’s snoring hadn’t kept him awake.

 

One hot and humid summer day, Tony met Jethro at the Navy Yard in DC and was given a personal tour. Once they entered the NCIS building, progress became slow because everyone had to stop to shake hands with former Special Agent Gibbs. One of these people was introduced as the director, Leon Vance. Vance never stopped frowning at Jethro, even though he welcomed him back.

 

“He got a problem with you?” asked Tony after the director had been called away.

 

“Nope, not any more,” Jethro briskly replied.

 

Ned Dorneget, Ellie Bishop, and Dwayne Wilson, their latest probie, along with several other agents, made a point of coming over to ask Jethro how he was doing – except they all called him Gibbs and not Jethro.

 

“Yeah, my damn arm is doing okay. Sure, retirement is agreeing with me. Yes, I’m really running a horse rescue,” Jethro said for the umpteenth time. After the first ten people had asked the same exact questions, Jethro began to glare at anyone who approached them. It didn’t stop the flow, perhaps because they felt he had less clout now he was retired. Finally, Jethro grabbed Tony’s arm and said, “Stairs. Now.”

 

They entered a lab in the basement, with Jethro blithely ignoring the signs that said _Visitors Must Have Clearance and STOP To Be Buzzed In._ Music was blaring so loudly Tony wondered if the buzzer could even be heard, should anyone use it. Tony quickly stepped out of the way when a dark-haired woman in a lab coat threw herself at Jethro, crying, “Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs!”

 

“Hey, Abs. Watch the arm,” said Jethro, his voice muffled by her hug. When she finally loosened her hold, Jethro turned to look at Tony and said, raising his voice over the music, “This is Abby. Abs, my friend Tony. Turn the music down, would ya?”

 

Tony was a little thrown by Abby’s spiked jewelry and clumsy boots, but far more disconcerting was the way Jethro seemed so accepting of her exuberant hugs. Tony took an immediate dislike to her. He was like Zack, making quick judgments. It was a knee-jerk reaction stemming from jealousy, Tony knew, but he couldn’t help it.

 

When Abby finally let go of Jethro in order to turn down the music, and after Jethro managed to get in a few replies to her incessant questions, Abby turned to Tony and inspected him as though he were a piece of evidence. “You’re Congressman DiNozzo,” she said, as if accusing him of something.

 

Tony did his best to turn on the charm. It was far more difficult than usual, probably because the keen look in Abby’s pretty green eyes made it clear that she wasn’t buying his act. Gibbs kept looking at him, frowning a bit at the awkwardness between him and Abby, not understanding where it was coming from. The more Tony smiled, the darker Abby’s expression grew, until finally Jethro said they had to go. He extricated himself from Abby’s hold with the promise he’d have the whole team over for a barbecue before the summer ended.

 

The two men slipped out a side door of the building and made it to the safety of their cars. Jethro drove fast, with Tony following on his six, in his own car. They ended up at a casual seafood restaurant where the cook greeted Jethro like he was an old friend. From the sound of things, the cook and Jethro had once berthed their boats on the same wharf nearby. Tony gathered from the conversation that Jethro had lost his boat in his last divorce settlement, years ago.

 

Once they were seated on the patio with a cold beer in hand and food on the way, Jethro asked Tony, “You got a problem with Abby?”

 

“What? Of course not,” Tony said.

 

“You were putting it on.” Jethro sounded pissed.

 

“Putting what on? Charm? A brilliant smile?” Before he’d even finished speaking, Tony knew he’d made a mistake, making light of the friction Jethro had witnessed between him and Abby.

 

Jethro spoke bluntly. “You put on your I’m a congressman act. The ‘I’m going to sell you something you don’t want to buy, but you’ll shell out your bottom dollar anyway, and be happy about it.’”

 

Tony sat there with his beer raised halfway to his lips, indignant. “I do not–“

 

Jethro pinned him down with his blue eyes and raised an eyebrow.

 

“I don’t act that way with–” Tony was going to say ‘with friends’ but he honestly couldn’t call Abby a friend. “I’m not a con man. I’m not like…my father,” he said stiffly.

 

Jethro took a pull on his beer. “Abby’s like a daughter to me. I need you to get along.”

 

Tony took his time choosing his next words. “I’m sorry we didn’t click, Jethro. I’m not likely to meet her again any time soon, but when I do, I’ll take the time to get to know her, okay?”

 

“There’s the barbecue,” Jethro reminded him.

 

“Uh, your barbecue is for your team. I didn’t think I’d be invited.”

 

“Why wouldn’t you be invited? You’re a big part of my life. And so is Abby,” Jethro said, apparently surprised at Tony’s response.

 

“Am I? A big part of your life?” Tony wasn’t quite sure where he fit in Jethro’s world, now he’d met a few people from his past. Jethro had seemed in his element at NCIS, even if he’d been as grumpy as all get-out, and those people who had come up to have a few words with him, every single one of them, had looked at Jethro with great respect. They all had a history with him, had seen him on the best and worst of days; some of these people had literally saved each other’s lives. How could he ever be part of that?

 

Jethro’s mouth tightened into a firm line. “Yeah, you are, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. We’re friends.”

 

The way Jethro said the word ‘friend’ made Tony realize that the older man was offering him something he didn’t offer many people. Even though Tony hadn’t known Jethro for very long, he could tell that he was a man who didn’t make many friends, but those he did, he kept close. And, Jethro apparently considered Tony a good friend, con man tendencies notwithstanding. It looked as though Tony had earned the Jethro Gibbs seal of approval when they’d first met, and he had just been too preoccupied, or dense, to realize it.

 

Tony smiled in apology. “Then I’ll do my best to become Abby’s friend.” He impulsively laid his hand on top of Jethro’s. It was as if a spark ran between them, and Jethro stilled, his eyes intense blue fixed upon Tony’s. Tony could feel his face getting hot, but he didn’t move his hand. “I’m sorry if I seemed to be…conning her. It was a defensive move, one I use when I’m not sure of my reception. I can tell she’s smart. She caught on right away. It was unintentional.”

 

Jethro nodded, accepting Tony’s words.

 

Tony decided to be honest. “And I was…uh…jealous.”

 

“Of Abby?”

 

Tony nodded. “And of all the people back there who knew you, and the history you all have together…I wish I’d met you a long time ago, and had the chance to work with you.” He suddenly grinned. “We would have made a great team. Batman and Robin, Starsky and Hutch…””

 

That made Jethro smile. “Just think of all the head slaps you would’ve gotten.”

 

Laughing, Tony agreed, “And the concussions!”

 

Their food came, and while they ate they talked about the places they’d been to, and those they’d like to see one day. Tony was aware that Jethro could be a closed-mouth bastard at times, though he’d rarely experienced it first hand. He also suspected that most people didn’t know that Jethro was fully capable of conducting an interesting conversation, with complete sentences and everything, so long as it was about subjects that interested him. Apparently travel and fishing, sports and military exploits were high on the list of ‘things to talk to Jethro about.’ His horses, too, he’d talk about their personalities and care for as long as you’d let him.

 

After they’d finished their lunch – Tony paid, saying it was his treat, and Jethro didn’t fight him on it – the two men ambled back to their cars. Before they parted ways, Jethro asked, “Are we still on for the 4th of July trip?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Jethro looked relieved. “So you’re coming?”

 

“Of course,” Tony replied, not quite understanding what was going on. “Is there a problem?”

 

“No. We’re fine.”

 

Tony thought that was the end of it, but Jethro said abruptly, “You know when Rob Tozier was at your place?”

 

Okay, that came out of left field. “Uh, sure. When I over-imbibed.”

 

“We were in the kitchen. I took him down, harder than necessary.” Jethro looked Tony in the eye as he said it, as if it were an important admission.

 

Tony blinked a couple of times. “You saying you were…jealous?”

 

Jethro admitted, “Guess so.”

 

“There’s no need,” Tony assured him. Jethro was still watching him intently, so Tony said, “I have only committed myself to one person so far, my wife. When I do so, I’m theirs for life, unless they do something to breach my trust…So there’s no need to be jealous.”

 

“It works both ways,” Jethro said quietly.

 

Tony agreed, “Yes, it does.”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Jethro invited Tony to come along with him to the annual picnic Moira VanGarten threw to bring all the local horse-people together. Tony was pleased to see Tim McGee there, although it looked as though he had come with Abby. Tony greeted them, but Abby did her best to ignore him. Jimmy Palmer was present, along with his pretty wife, Breena. They talked for a while, party chatter mostly, and when Moira commandeered Jethro in order to introduce him to people, Tony decided to see what he could do to make friends with Abby.

 

It grew quite hot, and seeing Abby sitting alone on a bench under a tree, Tony took her a cold drink. “It’s a Caf-Pow Cosmo, hold the cranberry juice.” He was glad to see Abby’s eyes light up; her pale hand reached for it greedily.

 

He sat beside her in the shade, and after giving her an update on how the horses were doing, Tony said, “Jethro says you haven’t come around for a while.” Abby gave a small shrug and concentrated on her drink. Tony cleared his throat and said quietly, “I care about him.” He’d never admitted it aloud, so this was quite a peace offering.

 

Abby didn’t beat around the bush. She met his gaze head on and said, in a pleasant tone, “You hurt him and I’ll pull your brains out your nose with a paper clip.”

 

Tony wondered if she was always so bloodthirsty. “Understood. But it won’t be necessary.”

 

Abby sipped her drink, and after a pause, looked sideways at Tony. “He likes you, too. A lot. I can tell.”

 

That was good to hear, even if Tony already knew as much. “Jethro’s a good man. He saved me, you know.”

 

“He does that,” Abby agreed.

 

Tony looked at her curiously. There was a story in there that he hoped to hear one day.

 

Abby pointed to the gold band Tony still wore on his finger. “Why do you wear that?”

 

“I’m getting a divorce but it won’t be final for months. I have a son. He’s ten.”

 

Abby nodded in understanding, her pigtails bobbing about her face. “Gibbs is a patient man, a world-class sniper.” She looked at Tony, assessing him, and seemed to make a decision. “Only he needs glasses for close work and he was always losing them, and now, if Tim or me aren’t there to replenish them because I only get out to the farm every couple of weeks, how is he going to be able to see?”

 

Tony laughed. “How about I make that one of my regular jobs? I’ll pick up a boxful if you tell me the kind he uses.” Abby immediately pulled out her phone and emailed Tony the details. After talking for a while, about forensics and cars, they regrouped with Tim, and went to rescue Jethro from a couple of older women who were looking at him like he was a blue-ribbon winner.

 

Jethro noticed Abby’s arm hooked in Tony’s on one side, and Tim’s on the other, and he smiled. Tony smiled right back, and when Abby caught them grinning at each other, she let go of Tony’s arm and said, ”I guess you’ll do, after all.”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

One Saturday morning, Tony arrived to find a large load of lumber stacked up in Jethro’s workshop next to the barn. At first he thought it was another house-related project, but he soon saw from a glance at the plans left out on the workbench that Jethro was taking up boatbuilding again. Tony had heard stories about his previous hand-built boats from Abby, the ones that had been named after people he loved. Some had ended up smashed or full of bullet holes, but a couple had actually made it onto the water.

 

“A weekend sailboat?” Tony asked, looking over Jethro’s shoulder at the large paper plans as he unfurled them.

 

“Nope. This one’s a 27-foot cruising sailboat with a 4-foot galley and a good-size cabin for sleeping.” Jethro turned to smile at Tony, his mouth suddenly way too close to Tony’s. “I’m doing a little adjustment to give it more headroom.”

 

“Sounds perfect,” Tony replied, finding it hard to breathe with Jethro so close and smiling at him like that.

 

“It will be,” Jethro assured him.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

By early summer, the renovated carriage house had been rented to a family named Pierson, a couple in their mid-forties and their two teenaged daughters. The girls, aged 14 and 15, loved horses and were happy to feed them and clean the stables in exchange for riding privileges. Only BigBoy and Nacho could be ridden, but the whole Pierson family was experienced with large animals. The parents assured Jethro that their daughters were responsible and would take good care of the animals.

 

The Piersons also leased some of the available farmland to grow organic foods they sold directly to local restaurants. Jethro gave them the go-ahead to raise chickens, and to set up a temporary greenhouse to extend their growing season. So far, he was very pleased with his tenants, especially as their presence allowed him to spend more time off the farm, and to take the occasional overnight trip.

 

Now that it was feasible for Jethro to take a vacation, Tony rented a beach house for over the long 4th of July weekend. “I hope it’s okay with you if Zack is coming. He’s mine for the week,” Tony said happily.

 

“He’s a good kid,” Jethro had replied, so it was all settled.

They sunned themselves and swam, had cookouts on the beach, and watched fireworks on the 4th from their little balcony off the bedroom upstairs. Once again, the two men shared a bed. This time, it was Tony who couldn’t sleep, while a sunburned Jethro splayed out and snored in harmony with the waves crashing on the shore.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

When Tony had initially come to the farm, Jethro had told him to choose any room upstairs and make it his own. “In case it gets late and you don’t want to drive,” Jethro had said. Tony had longingly eyed Jethro’s ground-floor bedroom, but before he could finish saying, “But it’s lonely up there,” Jethro had shut him down with, “There’s always the barn, DiNozzo.”

 

The room Tony had been sleeping in boasted only a double bed, and a chair that wobbled when he sat on it. Hanging on the wall over a boarded-up fireplace, was a dark still-life painting depicting succulent fruit and a large dead blackbird that lay limply across the foreground. “I don’t get it,” Tony had said. “Ya think?” had been Jethro’s reply. It was not the Adams House, but it was his own space, and Tony loved it.

 

Jethro hired Abby and a small army of her Habitat friends to do some much-needed work in the house. When Abby barged into Tony’s bedroom, wanting to dress it up, Tony gently pushed her out, saying that he liked the Spartan appearance. “But it’s like a monk’s cell,” she declared. Tony laughed, and pointed out that he was, after all, living the life of a monk, so it suited him perfectly.

 

The building team’s first job, and the biggest, was to help Jethro rebuild the front porch. They replaced the columns, and added wide-plank flooring they stained a dark green. The crew camped out in the upstairs bedrooms until the job was done, “Like squatters,” Abby said proudly.

 

There was only the bare minimum of furniture up there, and what little there was looked ready for the bonfire heap out back. Abby kept pleading with Jethro to get all six bedrooms fixed up so he could run the farm as a B&B. It took a lot of convincing, but Jethro allowed that they should refinish the floors, which were in pretty bad shape from years of wear and tear. “Do Tony’s bedroom floor, too,” he’d said. “During the week when he’s at work.”

 

Once the floors were done, Abby coaxed Jethro into agreeing they should pull down the peeling wallpaper and paint the walls. Jethro complained they were going to bankrupt him, but Tony noticed that he handed over a generous amount of money to pay for supplies, as well as for their time.

 

The crew of workers came and went at odd hours, but the work slowly got done. When the walls and ceilings were fresh with new paint, Abby and her friends pulled some old pieces of furniture out of the attic. They went to flea markets and yard sales, and Tony helped them bargain on Facebook and Craigslist. Within a couple of weeks they managed to furnish all five bedrooms (Tony was still holding out and didn’t want his sparsely furnished bedroom touched) in a style that even Jethro would approve of: lots of milkpaint, earthy colors, reclaimed wood headboards, rewired antique lighting and bathroom fixtures, bright rugs, simple drapes. Tony splurged on linens for all five of the guest bedrooms, saying you couldn’t expect anyone to sleep on hard cotton sheets.

 

On the day the renovations were complete, after Abby and her crew had left, Jethro set a couple of rockers on the new front porch and brought out a pitcher of lemonade. Tony sat out there, alongside Jethro, talking as they idly watched the horses grazing in the nearby field. It wasn’t until the sun started to set and they decided to go in to start dinner, that Tony remembered that someone had died right on that spot.

 

“I appreciate what you did, Jethro,” Tony said, knowing what a huge undertaking rebuilding the porch had been. “I think I should pay for the materials, at least.”

 

“It had to come down. Turns out there was dry rot under the pillars,” Jethro said with a shrug.

 

After a moment, Tony decided to accept what Jethro had said as being the truth, but the reason he’d taken the entire porch down had had nothing to do with pests, as Jethro had said. “I owe you,” Tony conceded.

 

Jethro slung one arm around Tony’s shoulders and guided him in through the front door. “Maybe you did, but I think you’ve more than repaid me just by being here.” Flustered, Tony bowed his head, feeling his cheeks heat up. He wanted to say something, but Jethro laughed good-naturedly and pushed him towards the kitchen. “But if you really feel you owe me something, you can always wash the dinner dishes.”

 

“Is that all?” asked Tony.

 

Jethro gave him a funny look before saying, “For now.”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER 16**

 

Tony was happy, far happier than he’d been in a long time. Bad dreams were mostly a thing of the past, and he hadn’t had a flashback in ages. His health was good – bruises all gone – and his appetite had come back. If he occasionally felt a bit down, it didn’t last long. Tony knew that a big part of his positive outlook was due to Jethro. Just being around him helped; Jethro was steady presence, and he was caring and non-judgmental, qualities that allowed Tony to be himself. Sure, at times the older man got into a bad mood, and he tended to clam up rather than vent if something bothered him. Tony learned to let Jethro go off on his own, to work on his boat or brush the horses, or whatever it was that he needed to do. When Jethro came back, he’d nod and give Tony a small smile, his way of apologizing, and everything would be back on track again.

 

Tony had been staying at Kelly Brook Farm most weekends for the past four months. It was his haven, after a hard week at work. Jethro told Tony to make one of the bedrooms upstairs his own, which Tony did, a back room with a single bed and peeling paint that overlooked the orchard.

 

Tony came and went as he pleased, and every time he arrived at the farm, Jethro welcomed him home like he was a member of the family. Tony helped out around the place – there was always something to do – and paid his share of expenses. Jethro seemed happy to have him there, and the one time Tony had suggested that maybe he was overstaying his welcome, Jethro glared at him fiercely and told him to “stop being an idiot.”

 

Tony’s relationship with Jethro seemed to have grown beyond simple friendship. While he lay in his single bed upstairs, with Jethro sleeping right below him, Tony tried to classify their relationship. He liked Jethro, admired him, and yes, he was grateful to him, but it was more than that. They had become comfortable in each other’s presence, often knowing what the other was thinking, needing only a look or a shrug to make a point. Whether they were working shoulder to shoulder in the barn, or cooking dinner in the kitchen, they seemed to move around each other in a well-orchestrated dance.

 

Tony thought, ‘We’re like an old couple,’ which made him laugh aloud. But after his laughter died, he pictured where they’d be in five, or ten years, and what they’d mean to each other as time passed. Would things remain the same? Still friends, but no more than that?

 

“I don’t want it to be the same,” Tony whispered to the night. “I want…” He didn’t know what he wanted, other than to remain close to Jethro, who despite his sometimes-crusty-old-man ways, was one of the most generous and kind people Tony had ever met. He wasn’t bad looking either, Tony thought with a laugh. He covered his mouth, not wanting to disturb Jethro, and smiled into his hand. Jethro would grumble under his breath if he could hear what he was thinking, and he’d tell Tony he’d been out in the sun for too long. “Make you crazy,” Jethro would say.

 

He would eventually figure it out, Tony told himself, as he rolled over and went to sleep. There was no hurry. Time moved slowly at Kelly Brook Farm. It was as if there were no clocks, and they gauged the hour by the angle of the sun, and the need for food or rest.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

In August, Jethro borrowed a sailboat for a few days and took Tony and Zack on a trip along the coast. His own boat wasn’t going to be complete for a year, Jethro said. “Takes time to build something that will last.”

 

They returned home suntanned and happy, with Tony going over a list of sea-related films he thought Zack, and Jethro, would like: “ _Treasure Island,_ the 1950 version, _Whale Rider_ , _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea…_ oh! and _The Russians are Coming_ – you haven’t seen it yet? We have to see it right way!”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

As the end of summer drew near, Tony became busier than ever with work. With the end of his term in Congress approaching, he had a lot of projects he wanted to complete, and a lot of things to get in order. He had less free time, but he did whatever he could to spend some time with Jethro, even if it was only watching a Sunday afternoon game on TV, and during halftime, catching up on what the other had been up to recently.

 

Friday evenings, Tony spent with his son. They usually watched a movie, or Tony would take Zack and his friends bowling; dinner was always pizza. Tony would often spend Saturdays with his son, cheering him on at a soccer game, or playing computer games until their eyes got tired. If Wendy agreed, Tony would take Zack with him to Kelly Brook Farm, and there Zack would help his dad and Jethro with chores and have fun running around like a wild thing.

 

Tony didn’t question his friendship with Jethro any more. He didn’t spend time trying to figure out if it was possibly something more. It wasn’t necessary. Whatever they had together, it just _was_ , and that was enough for him.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Tony needed to raise some cash. He was buying back half of the company he’d started, and had to relinquish, SafeZone. After a lot of number crunching, Tony decided that the best solution was to sell his condo. The building was full of tenants now, with a gym and a small restaurant on the ground floor, and he was pretty sure he could turn a quick sale, hopefully with a profit. As soon as the word got out that Tony was selling, several people approached him, and within a month, he’d closed a deal. His joy over the sale was tempered by the fact he no longer had a home in his district in Baltimore. Although living in his own district wasn’t a requirement, Tony had always done so. It went hand in hand with his commitment to the job.

 

“I would move in with Wendy, only the thought of moving out to suburbia makes me break out in hives,” Tony called to Jethro, who was in the living room. Of course he was joking, because it was clear that he and Wendy would never reconcile, and living in the same house, even temporarily, would be very difficult for both of them. Tony pulled a bag of hot popcorn out of the microwave and dumped it into a bowl. “You want butter and salt on your popcorn? Or is this a good time to cut down on salt like Ducky told you to do?” There was no answer. “Jethro?”

 

Tony walked into the living room, where _Saving Private Ryan_ was already in progress. He had assumed that Jethro was glued to the screen, and that he hadn’t heard him, but Jethro wasn’t even sitting on the couch. He was standing in front of the fireplace, staring into the low flames.

 

“You don’t like the movie? I had a feeling it might be too intense. I read that some WW2 vets had PTSD from watching the beach scene.” Jethro didn’t respond, so Tony approached him, turning the sound down as he passed by. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

 

“You want to live with her,” Jethro said, making it sound as if it were a fact.

 

“With Wendy? Not exactly,” Tony said, without thinking.

 

“Not _exactly_?” Jethro took a few steps towards Tony.

 

Tony stood his ground, wondering why Jethro looked so angry. “Of course I don’t. I just meant…Now my condo is sold, I have to find somewhere cheap to stay until the end of the year, when my term is up.” Jethro stared at him long enough for Tony to wonder if he’d said something wrong. “There has to be someone in Maryland with a room to rent,” Tony said.

 

“You should move in here,” Jethro said, as if the words were difficult to get out.

 

Jethro’s offer surprised Tony, if he was saying what he thought he was saying. “Like really move in? You’d be okay with that? I thought you liked your quiet time on weekdays when I’m not here.” Jethro also liked wet towels picked up off the bathroom floor, dishes to be done immediately after a meal and not left heaped in the sink, and for Tony to pick up all the things he habitually left strewn around the living room – but that didn’t mean any of them got done.

 

“You’ve already got a room with your name on it,” Jethro said, as if Tony was being purposely dense.

 

“Okay…well…I’m not sure it’s a good idea, and you’re not in my district,” Tony said slowly. “There’s a big difference between visiting on weekends and actually moving in with you.”

 

“You think you moving in is going to make a difference to anyone except us?”

 

Tony let out a humorless laugh. “Well yeah. Wendy’s lawyer might use it against me. We’ve outlined the custody terms but it isn’t cast in stone yet. It could end up being a huge battle, and I really don’t want that. You know lawyers.”

 

Jethro’s face hardened. “She’d do that to you?”

 

If Wendy wanted something, she wasn’t above doing whatever it took to get it. For a while they had been on better terms, probably because they saw so little of each other. But then Wendy had started bringing up the way he was throwing away his political career, and she suggested it wasn’t too late to save it. She’d dropped hints about how they should try again, save their marriage, and reminded Tony of the good times they’d had.

 

Tony had been clear from the beginning that there was no going back. She hadn’t liked hearing that.

 

Wendy had said that she didn’t want to go through with the divorce. “How can you do this to me? Humiliate me like this? Do you have any clue what it’s like to be told that your membership at the country club is going to be revoked? That they only let you in because you were married to Congressman DiNozzo?”

 

Tony couldn’t help laughing. “Guess that means they’re going to take my membership card away, too, once I’m out of office.”

 

Wendy had cajoled, pled and used guilt to persuade Tony to reconsider the divorce.

 

Tony had never wavered though. “I’m not the one who cheated, remember?” He’d told her, in no uncertain terms, that this was the right move for him. It was time to make a change. Wendy hadn’t taken it at all well, and that was when Tony had realized that she had always believed he would eventually give in.

 

Tony admitted to Jethro, “I guess she might use it against me, twist everything around, make out that our friendship is. . .” Was he willing to take the chance that Wendy might contest their verbal agreement about sharing Zack, out of spite, once it came time to set it down on paper? No, he wasn’t going to risk losing custody of his son. Zack meant everything to him, and if her lawyer convinced the judge to award Wendy full custody because he was living with another man… The thought of only being able to see Zack once a month, or on limited visits, or only in the summer – or _not at all_ – scared Tony.

 

“You _guess_?”

 

Something in Jethro’s tone made Tony wake up. “I don’t trust her. I’ll be happy to be wrong, but what if I’m right? I can’t assume anything. Isn’t that one of your rules?” Tony patted down his pockets, looking for his cell phone. He must have left it upstairs. “I need to have a talk with my lawyer.”

 

“Let’s sit down and talk this out,” Jethro said, turning off the TV.

 

But Tony slowly shook his head. “No… I think I need to go.” He needed time alone to work out his strategy. He’d been walking around with blinders on for months now. It was high time he got his act together and took the initiative.

 

“Tony, don’t go.” Jethro reached out and took hold of Tony’s arm.

 

“I need to think. I can’t do it here.” Tony stepped back but Jethro didn’t release him. His hand slid down and captured Tony’s wrist.

 

“I want you…” Jethro cleared his throat and started again. “I want you to–“

 

Tony demanded, “What _do_ you want from me, Jethro?” He found he was angry at Jethro and he didn’t know why.

 

“I want things to stay as they are,” Jethro said.

 

“What things? You want us, to grow old in this…this hideaway we’ve created? This place that’s safe from the outside world? You want us to be friends forever, is that it? Have you ever thought that maybe that’s not enough for me?” Tony pulled his wrist out of Jethro’s grip.

 

“You want it to be more?” Jethro asked, looking angry.

 

Yes, he did, Tony realized. He wanted a lot more, but this wasn’t the time. Tony said evenly, “I’m afraid that if she thinks we’re…more than friends, she could use it against me, Jethro. Even if we’re not, she might read something into the way I come here every free moment I’ve got, like you’re some magnet I can’t help being attracted to. Do you understand? My coming here is dangerous, and I can’t take that chance, not with my son at stake,” Tony said. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

 

Jethro stepped away and said, his voice hard, “No. You’re right. You do what you need to do.”

Jethro left the room and Tony stood there numbly, wondering if he and Jethro would ever be able to come to an understanding, to take the next step. He’d been denying his feelings for a while, for too long, probably, but it had been a difficult time for him. He’d been complacent ever since the kidnapping, had followed Jethro’s lead, had stayed in this sanctuary because he’d known there’d be no pressure. Tony didn’t doubt that Jethro loved him, though how much, and where it would take them was a big mystery – one that wasn’t about to get solved anytime soon.

 

Tony drove away from Kelly Brook Farm with a heavy heart. After the kidnapping, Jethro had helped him to recoup his strength, helped him heal by simply being there. He’d helped him more than he could ever know, and for that, Tony would be forever grateful. But now there were things that he had to do on his own, and there was no time to lose.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

“I need your help, Dad.”

 

The astounded expression on his father’s face might have been amusing if the situation hadn’t been so serious. Senior soon covered it up and almost preened because his son was actually coming to him for advice. “You know I’m here for you, Son. If it’s about the weapons bill–“

 

“It’s not about work. It’s personal.” Tony waited for his father to adjust his train of thought. “Even if we don’t see eye to eye most of the time, I love you, Dad. But there’s someone I love more – Zack – and I don’t want to lose him. If you never do anything else for me in your entire life, please do this one thing for me.”

 

To is credit, Senior didn’t hesitate before saying, “Of course, Junior. What do you need?”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER 17**

 

Just before Zack started the new school year, Tony took him to Magic Kingdom and Epcot for his 11th birthday. Zack’s friend Andy Collins, and Andy’s dad, Bob, joined them at Tony’s invitation. Bob had no issues about wrangling the kids, which allowed Tony time on the phone with his lawyer. That didn’t last long, seeing that Zack sent him disappointed looks and asked if Dad was ever going to have any fun.

 

“Sorry, kid,” Tony said, turning off his phone. The last thing he wanted was to follow in the footsteps of his own father, who was a good example of poor parenting. “How about you choose the next ride? Not too scary, though. You don’t want to frighten your old dad.”

 

Right after they returned from Florida, Tony got a call from his attorney letting him know that he had an appointment in court the following morning, and just like that, their divorce was finalized. It was an anticlimax – and a huge relief. He and Wendy had joint custody over Zack, and the lawyers handed out copies of the agreed-upon visitation schedule, with all the rules neatly written out for both parties. As Tony had promised, Wendy would be taken care of, getting the house, expenses and child support.

 

Wendy didn’t look at all pleased, and Tony overheard her snide comment to her lawyer about how somebody must have paid off the judge. Her lawyer tried to placate her, which only served to annoy her even more. With a dark look at Tony, Wendy pulled off her wedding ring and tossed it on the table before stalking out. It rolled around noisily before it fell onto the floor and disappeared down a heating grate.

 

It wasn’t anger Tony felt, but sadness, and a sense of failure, but then he remembered the way his wife had lied to him, continuing her long-time affair with her boss after she’d told him it was over. Now the only thing that mattered was his son, and Tony intended to make sure Zack was safe and happy, even if his parents had split up. As soon as the new year began, Tony was going to be heavily involved in his new job as partner of SafeZone. He’d be able to work from home, and he’d have a more flexible schedule – or that’s what he planned on.

 

Now the divorce was final, Tony wanted to run to Jethro and tell him the news in person, but for the next week he was either tied up with work, or stuck in meetings after work, sorting out details about buying back half of SafeZone. He was looking forward to working with his former business partner, Parker, who had built up the company over the past few years, even expanding into Europe. Parker had made it clear he was anxious for Tony to come aboard as soon as possible, as he had a stack of new contracts and the workload was killing him.

 

Tony called Jethro, but their conversation seemed stilted. He wasn’t sure if it was due to the last conversation they’d had, in which he’d refused Jethro’s invitation to move in with him. Tony had had a good reason, and Jethro had seemed to understand it, but Tony felt as though they’d parted on a sour note. He needed to fix it and he wasn’t sure how.

 

Tony kept the news of the divorce settlement to himself, and Jethro didn’t ask about it. Jethro said he’d had the team barbeque at Kelly Brook Farm on the weekend when Tony was in Florida. It had gone well, and he’d enjoyed seeing everyone again. He didn’t say he’d missed Tony being there, but Tony imagined he’d heard it in his voice anyway.

 

 

A few days later, Tony phoned again, late in the afternoon.

 

“You okay?” asked Jethro, apparently hearing something in his voice.

 

“I guess.” Tony could hear the sound of a horse nickering in the background. “Feeding time?” he asked.

 

“They can wait,” was Jethro’s curt reply.

 

There was silence on the line, and eventually Tony gave in. “I have everything planned out, got a timetable, goals, the works, only…only I feel like I’m adrift.” He sighed softly. “I’m not unsure of where I’m going, or of any of my choices, but I just…”

 

“You’re unsettled,” Jethro said knowingly. “Lots of changes. Need time to process everything.”

 

“I keep feeling as though I’ve forgotten something really important,” Tony admitted.

 

“Just remember…” Jethro didn’t finish his sentence.

 

For some reason, Tony’s heart was beating hard when he asked, “Remember what?”

 

“Remember this is your home, Tony. And I’m here for you,” said Jethro, his voice low and throaty.

 

For a long moment, Tony couldn’t speak, and when he did, his voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. “I know you are, Jethro. I think I…I need…”

 

“Just come home, Tony,” Jethro said, as if that was the answer to everything. As if it was that easy.

 

“Okay.” The horses were neighing in the background, quite loudly, making Tony smile. “You go take care of them.”

 

“Guess I’d better before Big Boy knocks down the stall door,” Jethro grumbled. “I meant what I said.”

 

“I know. Thanks, Jethro.” Tony imagined Jethro nodding decisively.

 

“You come when you can then.”

 

“Tomorrow,” Tony said. He wished he could go to the farm that night, but he had paperwork to do and an early morning meeting in DC.

 

 

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

The next evening, after work, Tony drove out to Kelly Brook Farm. He stretched, looking around, and spotted Jethro repairing a line of fence. Jethro looked up as Tony waded through the long grass, and smiled broadly when he saw him. Tony expected a simple grunt, or a slap on the shoulder, but Jethro dropped his tools and pulled him into a tight hug, which said pretty clearly that he had missed Tony just as much as Tony had missed him.

 

A couple of the horses out in the paddock trotted up to the fence, snorting and nickering, and Tony laughed. “Guess they missed me.”

 

“Looks like it,” Jethro agreed, apparently unable to stop smiling.

 

“So, does that mean you missed me, too?” Tony wanted to hear the words. He took a moment to eye Jethro, who was looking pretty damned good, even if he was wearing an old flannel shirt, and jeans with threadbare knees and work gloves stuffed in the back pocket.

 

“Could be,” Jethro admitted, rubbing the back of his head while he gave Tony a good look up and down.

 

Tony couldn’t stop grinning. “You like what I’m wearing?” he teased, spreading his arms to show off his expensive suit.

 

Jethro snorted. “You’d better change outta those fancy shoes.”

 

Tony looked down at his Zegna shoes. “Why? They’re comfortable.”

 

Jethro shrugged. “If you’re comfortable getting manure all over them…”

 

Tony looked up, horrified. “Manure?”

 

“Chores before chow,” Jethro said with a smirk. He gathered his tools and made his way to the barn, leaving Tony behind.

 

Apparently any conversation was going to have to wait. “Hey, Jethro, remember _Green Acres_? ‘The chores…The stores…Goodbye, city life,’” Tony sang, raising his voice to ensure Jethro heard him. He smiled when he saw the older man’s head shaking in bemusement.

 

Knowing what dangers lurked in the barn, Tony decided he’d better change his shoes. His bag of weekend clothes was on the back seat of his car, so he hurried to unpack his work boots. He switched his suit jacket for an ‘I Love My Mustang’ sweatshirt while he was about it, and hoped his trousers weren’t going to get flecked with barn muck.

 

Good thing he changed, it turned out, as Jethro put him to work cleaning out the stalls right away. “Didn’t have time to do it earlier,” Jethro explained. Turned out the teenage Pierson girls were busy with school and sports, and could only tend to the horses on weekends. Jethro gave Tony the chore of trundling the full wheelbarrow out back to add the load to the huge heap of manure.

 

By the time they were done, and the horses were settled for the night – Tony had to stop and say goodnight and give a treat to each horse individually – it was getting dark.

 

“C’mon, dinner won’t cook itself,” Jethro said, leading the way to the house without waiting for Tony.

 

While preparing dinner, they talked a bit about politics, sports, horses, and discussed what to do now the Depression-era tractor that had come with the farm had finally bitten the dust. “I’ve heard some farmers share large machinery to save on costs. Like time-sharing,” Tony suggested.

 

Jethro started slicing a cucumber, and said he’d ask around. “Maybe I can get McGee to program it to cut the hay remotely.”

 

“Interesting. A robotic tractor,” Tony mused.

 

Jethro shrugged. “Whatever it takes, so I don’t have to drive up and down the fields in the hot sun.”

 

“Ooooh, it’ll be a transfarmer,” Tony said with a grin, but he could see from Jethro’s puzzled expression he didn’t get it. Tony picked up a carrot and said, “Never mind. Pass me that small knife, will you?” He had really missed this, the easygoing relationship that allowed them to talk and joke around while doing something as mundane as cutting up some vegetables.

 

They soon got the food on the table and sat down, but before they started to eat, Tony said, “I need to tell you… My divorce, it was finalized last week.”

 

Jethro’s gaze didn’t waver from Tony’s face, and after a moment he asked, “Were the terms fair?”

 

“Yeah, I think they were,” Tony said.

 

“I’m glad for you, even if…”

 

“Even if divorce sucks,” Tony said with a sigh. “Look, I don’t want to ruin dinner, so can we eat? I’ll tell you more about it later, if you want.”

 

“Sounds like a good idea,” Jethro agreed, and started to dish up a chicken pot pie with the salad on the side.

 

After they’d demolished the meal, Jethro and Tony sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee.

 

“That was really good,” said Tony, patting his stomach. He was pretty lean, had been ever since the kidnapping, but he was slowly putting on weight. It was all too easy to pick up fast food when you were tired at the end of the day, so he appreciated the home-cooked dinner Jethro had put together. “You made the pot pie?”

 

“No, Jodi did. She makes them for Bowie Inn, meat pies and desserts. The ones I’ve tasted have been really good. She’s a great cook.” Jethro smiled, obviously thinking of the woman who shared her home-baked goods with him, and Tony didn’t like it.

 

Tony asked stiffly, “Jodi?”

 

Jethro’s smile grew wider. “Mmm. Nice lady. Sure knows her way around the kitchen.”

 

Tony frowned. “Let me guess, she’s a redhead.”

 

“You got something against redheads?”

 

Tony gave a nonchalant shrug. “No. Why should I?” So what if Jethro was interested in a redheaded woman who baked one hell of a terrific chicken pot pie? He was an attractive man, a _very_ attractive man, whose ass looked great in those jeans, and he had those icy blue eyes and big work-roughened hands… Tony looked up to see Jethro smirking at him in a way that said he knew exactly what was going on in Tony’s mind.

 

Tony felt heat rising up his neck when he realized his mistake. “Oh…Jodi Pierson…She’s the mother… the family who rent the carriage house?”

 

“Oh yeah. Don’t assume,” Jethro said, as if it was a rule he’d recited many times before.

 

Tony admitted, “Okay, I guess I was sorta quick to assume the worst. The pie’s really good though.”

 

Jethro watched Tony over his coffee mug, his eyes filled with amusement. “Yup.”

 

“What?” Tony asked in an exasperated tone, embarrassed that he’d been caught being jealous.

 

“Lots of assuming going on around here,” Jethro said with a noncommittal shrug.

 

“Oh? What have you been assuming?” Tony raised his eyebrows, inviting Jethro to give him something to work with.

 

“You’ll see.” Jethro sipped his coffee so nonchalantly that Tony just knew he was keeping a secret.

 

Whatever Jethro was up to, it looked like he was going to take his sweet time letting Tony in on it. Meanwhile, Tony rose, motioning for Jethro to stay put. “Got something to show you.” He returned with a big envelope, and pulled out a sheaf of official documents. “Here,” he said, presenting them to Jethro.

 

Jethro reached for his glasses (one of several pair of cheaters that Tony had bought and placed at strategic places throughout the house), and glanced over the paperwork. “The joint custody looks fair. More than fair,” Jethro commented, raising one eyebrow. “You bribe the judge?”

 

Tony couldn’t help smiling. “Not me. I asked my dad for a favor.” At Jethro’s sharp look, Tony said, “Yeah, I know. Normally, I’d expect to regret asking for anything, but not this time.”

 

Jethro put the papers down. “You didn’t really have your dad bribe the judge?”

 

“Not exactly. Senior has played golf with him, but he’s played golf with half the state. And… I asked my father to have a talk with Wendy.” At Jethro’s questioning glance, Tony shifted in his chair and said, “My father offered her a package deal of sorts, starting with sponsoring her, and paying for her membership at the country club he belongs to. Dad said he could also arrange to get Wendy invited to a whole slew of social events, and in some cases he will even escort her – he loves those fancy parties. He says he’ll introduce her to all the right connections for work and for play.”

 

Jethro commented sourly, “Sounds good for her. What did she do for you?”

 

“In return, she wouldn’t contest the custody agreement my lawyer presented,” Tony said smugly. “She didn’t like it, but she knows which side her toast is buttered on. So everything went smoothly, apart from a couple of you-burn-in-hell looks she sent my lawyer. If she doesn’t live up to her end of the bargain, Wendy gets to deal with Senior, and he has plenty of experience with divorces and contracts. She won’t make any trouble. Hopefully, she won’t hate me too much, and I’ll get to spend a lot of time with my kid, and we’ll all live happily ever after. Now, is there any dessert? ‘Cause I’m really hungry.”

 

“Apple crumble,” Jethro said absently. Tony made to rise, but Jethro stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Your dad…he didn’t just do all of this out of the goodness of his heart.”

 

Tony sighed. “There was a strong chance Wendy was going to take a job in another state – she’s always talking about San Diego – and if she got full custody, she’d take my son with her. I wouldn’t have any say in it. Look, my dad loves himself first and foremost, but he also loves Zack. I knew he wouldn’t allow Wendy to take his only grandchild away.”

 

“And you?” Jethro asked, scowling. “What did you have to agree to in return?”

 

“There were some terms,” Tony allowed, knowing that Jethro wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

 

“What terms?” Jethro growled.

 

Tony sighed deeply. “I made an agreement with my father that I would listen to his advice about my political career.”

 

“Your political career?” Jethro asked in disbelief. “Doesn’t he know you’ve resigned?”

 

“From my Congressional seat,” Tony pointed out.

 

“Am I missing something?”

 

“He thinks I’m running for the Senate next,” Tony said, rolling his eyes.

 

“Are you?”

 

Tony sighed. “No, I’m not, Jethro. I explained, once again, that I was buying back into SafeZone. Senior thinks it’s a good investment, but he doesn’t think that should stop me from running for office again. He expects me to set my sights higher.”

 

Jethro looked furious. “You’re going to let him plan your whole life for you? All he cares about is how high an office he can get you into. He doesn’t care about you, Tony, or how this is going to effect you.”

 

Tony raised a hand to calm Jethro down. “No, of course not! Just because I agreed to listen to him doesn’t mean I’m going to let him badger me into going back into politics. Hearing him out is a small price to pay for getting custody of my son.”

 

Jethro studied him for a long moment but eventually he let out a breath. “What about you? You okay?”

 

Tony made a noncommittal gesture with one hand. “None of this has sunk in yet. Facing Wendy in the court was a lot harder than I expected. You know, when I first found out she was having an affair, I thought it was my fault. I mean, I was angry and everything, at her, and at myself, and I had a lot of sleepless nights. But she betrayed us; not just me, but our son as well. It was…bad. It totally wiped me out. I’d been through three of my dad’s marriages and divorces when I was a kid, standing on the sidelines. The last one I saw, when I was about 14, got really nasty, _The War of the Roses_ nasty, and it affected my dad badly. I’d ever seen him so depressed. And angry. He was drinking, and things were… tense for a while. He sent me off to military school to get me out of the way. Anyway, I think he understands what I’ve been going through. Nothing like divorce to bond fathers and sons, eh?”

 

“Divorces can tear you apart,” Jethro said, with an unhappy nod.

 

Tony reached over the table and took Jethro’s hand in his. “I’m sorry. You can’t want to hear all this.”

 

“I’ll listen to whatever you need to say, Tony.”

 

Tony gave Jethro a wan smile. “Thanks. It means a lot to have you here.” he sighed. “I don’t get it though. How can two people who have so much love for each other turn on each other like that? Like ravenous zombies who can’t think of anything but eating big chunks of the person closest to them, rending flesh with rotting teeth–?” Tony stopped short. “Okay, not a good visual.”

 

“Sounds about right to me,” said Jethro, the corner of his mouth lifting in an understanding smile. He gave Tony’s hand a warm squeeze.

 

Reluctantly releasing his hold on Jethro’s hand, Tony stood and went over to the coffee maker. “You want more?” Jethro held out his mug and Tony poured for both of them. Sitting down again, he spoke in a subdued manner. “After I found out about her affair, we went to counseling, did all the right things, tried to make our marriage work. I thought we were on the road to recovery, but apparently Wendy thought so little of me, of our union, that she started up with the same guy again. I didn’t catch on for a while.” He shook his head. “I was blind. Stupid.”

 

“Not stupid, Tony. You saw what you expected to.” Jethro said.

 

“’You never expect the Spanish Inquisition,’” Tony quoted with a little laugh. “That’s from _Monty Python_ ,” he explained.

 

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one,” Jethro said, smiling. “It’s never easy to start over again, but give it time.”

 

“Well, I am moving ahead. Out with the old and in with the new,” Tony said with a forced smile. “Maybe instead of apple crumble, we should break out the drink and have a celebration.”

 

Jethro pulled a bottle of bourbon out of a cupboard and poured them each a couple of fingers. “To change,” he said, raising his glass.

 

“Change for the better. And to you, my good friend.”

 

Jethro nodded in agreement, took a sip, and then served up their dessert.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

As soon as they’d finished dinner, Jethro got to his feet. “Come with me.”

 

Jethro led the way upstairs and turned on the lights in the bedroom that Tony had been using. “Did some work on it while you were away,” he said, looking expectantly at Tony.

 

Tony was rendered speechless by what he saw. Gone was the single bed with its battered brass headboard. Gone was the old armchair that Tony had been afraid to sit in because he was sure it had mice living inside the upholstery. Gone was the dead crow painting.

 

Instead, he was greeted by a fully furnished bedroom that looked as though it had been transported directly from the pages of _Décor Magazine_. The bed was huge, and came with a handsome cherry headboard. Tony ran his hand over it a slate blue comforter that felt as luxurious as it looked. The drapes and rug matched the bedding, in subtle patterns of gray and the palest of greens, as did a comfortable-looking chair situated near an antique desk. A large, old-fashioned wardrobe, when opened, revealed a flat screen television, and a library of DVDs neatly arranged on the shelves.

 

“Oh my,” said Tony, circling around the room, touching everything. “The fireplace…it was blocked off.” Now, with logs stacked in the hearth, it appeared to be ready to use.

 

“I had a chimney guy come and look over all the fireplaces. This one works. Here…” Jethro opened a door and revealed a new bathroom.

 

“Where did this come from?” Although the tiled bathroom wasn’t very big, there was a shower, toilet, and a sink with counter space. Tony’s toiletries were lined up to one side.

 

“It used to be a linen closet that opened in the hall,” Jethro said, looking pleased.

 

“This is…it’s beautiful,” Tony said, touching the marble counter reverently. “You must have worked so hard on this, and with everything else you have to do…”

 

His cheeks pinking up, Jethro shrugged. “Had a bit of time on my hands without you around.”

 

“So, with the other five bedrooms already done, you’ll be ready to open your B&B, just like Abby said you should.”

 

To his surprise, Jethro was frowning. “Bed and breakfast? What the hell would I want to run one of them for?”

 

“Uh, I don’t know….some people like being hosts? Showing off their properties? Making some spare cash? It would be a good money-maker, don’t you think?”

 

“That’s not…” Jethro huffed out a breath.

 

“Not what?”

 

“I didn’t do this just so some stranger could sleep here, Tony.”

 

“Then who?”

 

Jethro stepped up to Tony, and before Tony could do anything, Jethro slapped him hard on the back of the head.

 

“Ow! You hit me! What did you do that for?”

 

“Because this is for you, Tony! I did this for _you_! Or maybe I assumed too much.” Jethro turned on his heel and strode out of the room, and in the few seconds it took Tony to recover, and close his mouth, and smooth down his hair, Jethro had stomped down the stairs and out the front, slamming the door behind him.

 

Tony found Jethro in his workshop, a glass jar of bourbon in his hand. Jethro didn’t look up from the hand-drawn plans on his workbench. He appeared to be studying them, but Tony could tell he wasn’t.

 

“I’m sorry,” Tony said. Jethro tride to cut him off with a movement of his hand, but Tony ignored it. “It’s just that I never thought that anyone…that you would create something so beautiful for me. I should have realized it was for me as soon as I entered the bedroom, because you got everything right, and in my favorite colors, too. More than right in fact. It’s all…perfect. And I… I want you to know that I appreciate all your hard work, and I know you put your heart into it…”

 

Jethro put the bourbon down and turned to face Tony, no longer angry. “I want you to have a comfortable room you like to stay in.”

 

“And I appreciate that.”

 

“You can come and go any time you want. We can change one of the other rooms to suit Zack, if you like.”

 

“He’ll love that, Jethro. A room he can call his own. It means a lot to me… all of this.”

 

Jethro nodded and turned back to his workbench. After a moment, he said in a quiet voice, “Sorry.”

 

“What for?” Tony didn’t believe he’d ever heard Jethro apologize before, not in so many words – or even in one word, for that matter.

 

Raising a shoulder in a helpless gesture, Jethro said, “Making assumptions. Not talking to you. And for slapping you.” He looked at Tony, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Haven’t had much chance to do that since I left NCIS.”

 

“Miss it, do you?” Tony asked, not bothering to hide his smile.

 

“You’ll never know how much,” Jethro admitted. “I used to headslap probies. Dorneget got a few. Ziva, she would piss me off like nobody’s business but I only did it to her a couple of times,” he said, shaking his head. “Burley got his share, long before her. McGee, at first, before he smartened up.”

 

“McGee? You can’t exactly headslap the head of the MCRT, can you?”

 

“No need. And now he knows how to keep them in line.”

 

“You uh, want to come back inside? Maybe we could change into something more comfortable and watch DVDs, sitting on my bed,” Tony suggested with an exaggerated leer.

 

Jethro nodded slowly. “I could do that.”

 

Ten minutes later, Jethro was propped up on Tony’s big new bed, wearing a white undershirt and boxers. Tony was beside him, fiddling with the remote. It was too warm for a shirt, so he was bare-chested.

 

Jethro eyed Tony’s bare chest. “You lose your shirt or something?”

 

Tony rubbed a hand over his chest. “Nope. I don’t like wearing a shirt in bed, just sleep pants. Better than your tee and boxers.”

 

“Something wrong with my boxers?” Jethro asked with a scowl.

 

Tony got the movie started, _The Peacemaker,_ and without looking at Jethro, he spoke like an announcer over an intercom, “Sears best boxers, folks, three-to-a-pack. Assorted plaids for $12.99. Get them in aisle three.”

 

Jethro stared at him for a moment and then said in a hard voice, “It’s called being frugal, DiNozzo.”

 

Tony waved a hand at the well-appointed bedroom that Jethro had decorated for him. “Oh, I’m sorry…this is being frugal?”

 

Jethro made a funny sound in the back of his throat but he didn’t answer.

 

The movie had been playing for about five minutes when Jethro crossed his arms over his chest and muttered, “This is different.”

 

Tony didn’t take his eyes off the screen but he could feel Jethro’s eyes on him. “Oh yeah, how?”

 

Jethro said quietly, “Because it’s the only way I could think of...”

 

Tony turned his head. “Of what?”

 

With a snort, Jethro said, “The only way I could think of to get you to move in, permanently. I want you to live with me, Tony.”

 

“Are you saying you want to have a relationship with me?” asked Tony, being cautious.

 

Jethro didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

 

Tony pulled a face. “The ink on my divorce papers isn’t even dry, Jethro.”

 

Jethro studied him, and then nodded. “You need a bit of a breather. I can wait.”

 

Tony eyed him dubiously. “You’re sure?” His heart was beating a mile a minute. This was a huge step and even though he knew this was what he wanted, Tony couldn’t believe that Jethro really wanted him. Maybe as a companion, someone to share his home with, but not as a lover.

 

“If that’s what you need.” Jethro looked determined. He reached over and took hold of Tony’s hand, and when Tony blushed a little and smiled, Jethro kissed his cheek and said, “I think you need to wear a t-shirt in bed. For now.”

 

Tony’s smile grew wider. Maybe he was wrong about Jethro only wanting a housemate, after all.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER 18**  

 

Tony closed the back door behind him and called out, “Hey Lucy, I’m home!”

 

He only took a couple of steps into the hallway when he came to an abrupt halt. Jethro was down on his hands and knees, rummaging around in the mudroom closet. “Uh, what are you _doing_?”

 

“Shoes,” Jethro replied, his voice muffled.

 

“I managed to wrap things up early, and left before the Beltway got jammed up.” Tony admired Jethro’s rear end, while he loosened his tie. “I’m gonna get a beer. You want one?”

 

Something that sounded like it might have been a ‘No,’ followed by an annoyed grunt was all the answer Tony got.

 

“You want help?” Tony asked, amused at the sight of Jethro’s butt wiggling around as he pulled boots and winter gear out of the closet. Jethro’s jeans were tight across his ass, making Tony wonder if he was wearing boxers or briefs.

 

“Damn it! No!”

 

“All right already,” Tony replied, not too put out by his friend’s grouchy response. He shrugged out of his suit jacket as he went into the kitchen, and draped it neatly over the back of a chair. As he pulled a couple of ice-cold beers out of the fridge, Tony raised his voice so Jethro could hear him. “Staying over in DC might be convenient but I’m glad I don’t live in the city any more. All week long, I look forward to coming here. Hey, did I tell you Zack’s soccer team is the best in their division? He’s improved a lot; their coach is really good this year. Some of those parents push their kids too hard though. Of course half of them are FBI or ex-military, so what d’you expect?”

~  • ~  ~  • ~  ~  • ~

The past few weeks Tony had worked long hours that demanded he stay in DC on weeknights. As soon as the last meeting on Friday finished, Tony was out the door. Five minutes later, he was fighting traffic to get to his ex-wife’s house in Roland Park. They’d bought that house together back in 2002, and had envisioned bringing up their children there, enjoying a good, loving relationship and a rich, rewarding life – but now that dream had gone down the drain. Still, Wendy had made a good home for their son there, and at least the terms of the divorce prevented her from pulling up stakes and heading off to San Diego and taking his son away from him.

 

Tony spent time with Zack every weekend, until Sunday afternoon when he’d leave and head over to Kelly Brook Farm. This weekend, however, Zack was at a camp-out with the Scouts. That meant that he and Jethro had the entire weekend together, which Tony was really looking forward to. Spending only Sunday afternoons with Jethro was far from satisfying; Tony wanted more. The good thing was that they seemed to be getting closer, if the increase in bumping of shoulders and casual touching of hands was anything to go by. Plus, Jethro had a certain way of looking at him, with an intense kind of interest that made Tony feel hot all over, just thinking about it.

 

Every Sunday evening, Tony would settle on his bed to watch TV. Jethro would usually poke his head in to say goodnight, and Tony would invite him to join him. Jethro would hesitate, and Tony would insist, and a few minutes later, Jethro would be sitting on top of the covers with a book in his hands, reading glasses perched on his nose. It was a big bed, easy enough for them to remain on their own side. If they’d wanted to touch each other, they could have moved a little closer, but neither man did.

 

When Tony eventually turned off the TV and got under the covers, Jethro would stay a little while and they’d talk. Or, Tony would talk and Jethro would insert the occasional comment. The conversation would eventually peter out, and Tony would roll onto his side and close his eyes with a sigh.

 

With one finger marking his place, Jethro would say, “Just to the end of the chapter.”

 

“That’s fine,” would be Tony’s response. “I like having you here,” he’d say softly, already halfway asleep. Once his eyes were closed, Tony would feel a soft kiss on his hair. He’d smile and mumble, “Night,” and Jethro would say the same to him, so quietly he was barely audible. The bedside light remaining on didn’t bother Tony; in fact he liked knowing that Jethro was nearby, keeping watch over him. He would fall asleep quickly, assuming that Jethro would soon close his book and make his way downstairs to sleep in his own bed.

 

Tony was a deep sleeper, but one night a month earlier, he’d had to get up to take a leak. He had risen in the dark – it was around 4 a.m. – groggy with sleep, and when he’d returned from his beautiful new bathroom, he had discovered Jethro snoring softly on the other side of his bed. On top of the covers, but still, he was sleeping on Tony’s bed, curled a little on his side, facing away.

 

At first, Tony hadn’t known what to make of it. After some thought, he was pretty sure that this wasn’t the first time this had occurred. He’d stood there for a while, the hundred-year-old wood floor cool under his bare feet, listening to the night sounds through the open window while watching the slight rise and fall of Jethro’s chest. After a while he’d said, “Huh,” to himself, and had simply covered the sleeping man with a blanket and climbed into bed beside him. Tony, although very much aware of Jethro’s presence, had found it easy to fall asleep to the sound of Jethro’s breathing.

 

The same sequence of events occurred several weekends in a row, and every Monday morning, Tony awoke to find Jethro gone and his side of the bed made. It was as if Jethro had never even been there, or perhaps he wanted to make it look that way. For a man who had said he wanted to be in a relationship, Jethro was moving as slow as sap. Either he wasn’t sure about being intimate with another man – or he was playing it excruciatingly slow for Tony’s sake. Admittedly, Tony had made several comments about how he felt unsure about life in general, and how he needed time to get his act together. But this vague kind of affair couldn’t go on indefinitely.

 

Their odd sleeping arrangement was never mentioned, and Tony didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. He was afraid Jethro wouldn’t join him, not even to sit on top of the covers and read, if he made an issue out of it. It couldn’t remain an unspoken subject forever though.

 

Last week, on Monday morning, Tony had woken up splayed over Jethro’s body, his cheek resting on Jethro’s chest. Immediately, he had jerked away, mumbled something like an apology and made his way to the bathroom, never even meeting Jethro’s eyes. When Tony had emerged, the bed was empty – the covers on the other side had been straightened as neat as ever – and Jethro had gone downstairs to start the coffee. Tony had left hurriedly, not even grabbing something for breakfast. He’d used a busy workday as an excuse, but he’d been well aware of Jethro’s eyes following him as he all but ran from the house.

 

All week long, Tony had been bothered by his own behavior. He wasn’t fond of confrontations, but he was no coward. He knew he was going to have to talk to Jethro, to make sure they were on the same page. For all he knew, Jethro wasn’t as comfortable about being close with another man as Tony had believed him to be. Maybe he just wanted to be friends, to be Tony’s protector. After all, that’s how they’d met, with Tony on the run from imminent danger and Jethro throwing himself wholeheartedly into the role of a bodyguard.

 

Tony was increasingly unsure of what to do. He really wanted to go to the next step with Jethro, but apart from sleeping platonically in the same bed, neither of them had made any kind of move towards the other. It was frustrating because for the first time since the kidnapping, he was feeling the stirrings of something in his heart. Tony wanted to act upon it, to get more of what he’d briefly tasted that night he’d been drunk and had all but molested Jethro, but on the other hand, these feelings he was having were for another man, and that was uncharted territory for him.

 

Tony didn’t understand why he felt so strongly for Jethro – and he did feel deeply for him, he knew that much. He had questioned it many a time in the small hours of the night when he should have been sleeping, but he knew it was real, and not fleeting. Tony had always yearned for intimacy, and although he was pretty sure that he wasn’t attracted to men in general, he knew he wanted Jethro and no other. Deep down, Tony wanted a relationship with someone who would be loyal and strong, someone who would take care of him, just as much as he wanted to love and protect his partner. His heart told him that that person was Jethro Gibbs, but should he make an overture and Jethro would reject him, Tony was afraid he would fall apart.

 

Even though he wanted it, the thought of intimacy was frightening. Maybe it was too soon. It had only been a few months since he’d been kidnapped. The therapist he’d been seeing had explained that being unsettled and indecisive was due to the trauma of kidnapped. “You have been through a great deal the past few months,” he’d said. Tony’s life had been in danger, and he had been badly injured and traumatized, not to mention the divorce and the pressure of his job.

 

“Have you told him yet? The entire story?” asked his therapist.

 

“No. I’m afraid to.” It was more than that; he could barely think about what had gone on during his captivity himself. He’d found ways not to think of it, and had pushed the bad memories and thoughts aside. Tony knew that before things got too hot and heavy with Jethro, and he hoped they got to that point, he had to tell the man the truth about what had occurred when Beals had held him captive. He was still dealing with the tumultuous emotions and fears that came from being a kidnapping survivor, but if he couldn’t face it, how could he move on with his life? Here he was, closing doors behind him, on his marriage and political career, yet until he faced what had happened during his abduction, there was no way he was going to be able to move forward.

 

Telling Jethro was going to be hard to do, but it was important that he did so. One thing he knew for sure, there was no moving forward if you were dragging a lot of baggage along with you.

~  • ~  ~  • ~  ~  • ~

Now their long weekend together had begun, and there was no turning back.

 

Tony leaned against the wall and took a pull on his beer while he waited for Jethro to emerge from the closet. “You know, if you tell me what you’re looking for, maybe I can help.” An old barn boot sailed past him, followed by a pair of sneakers. Tony ducked and asked, “What is this, a rummage sale?”

 

Jethro emerged, holding up a pair of dress shoes like a prize. “We’ve got that damned charity ball thing to go to, and I need dress shoes. Why did I buy tickets to it?”

 

“It’s a party, Jethro, not a walk to the gallows.” Tony eyed Jethro’s silver hair, which was sticking up in a strangely attractive way. He couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve got an Alfalfa thing going on,” he remarked, pointing at Jethro’s hair.

 

“You’re the one who said I had to go,” Jethro snapped, smoothing down the errant hairs.

 

Tony couldn’t help teasing a little. “Did I?”

 

Jethro’s eyes widened. “You’re going with me, right?” He sounded alarmed, as if he was afraid Tony was backing out.

 

“Of course I am. It’s a really good cause and Moira expects you there to promote the mustang programs. You can press the flesh and talk about the progress you’ve made with all your four-footed friends, and I’ll be happy to accompany you as your escort.” Tony wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “When is this thing?”

 

“Tomorrow, and you’re riding point, DiNozzo.”

 

Tony raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. So what kind of tux did you get?”

 

“I don’t know. A black one? I told them I had a thing to go to and they gave me one.”

 

“Don’t tell me they didn’t take the time to fit you. Well, I can see I got here in the nick of time.” Tony accompanied Jethro into his bedroom. He cajoled Jethro into trying on the tux, and then tutted as he walked around him, tugging at the ill-fitting jacket and cinching in the baggy trousers. “This is criminal! Whoever fitted you should be shot. This won’t do. It won’t do at all.” Tony glanced at his watch. “Get me the phone number and I’ll see if they’re still open.”

 

Jethro handed over the receipt from the rental store and Tony called them. It was a brief conversation and he made it clear, using what Jethro later called ‘your Congressman DiNozzo voice,’ that he wasn’t at all pleased.

 

Tony hung up and turned to Jethro. “Get changed back into your clothes. No, not the barn clothes…something clean.”

 

“Why?” Jethro said with a stubborn expression.

 

“We’re going to the store where you rented this, and they’re going to make it right,” Tony declared.

 

Jethro looked at Tony as if he were out of his mind. “Do we have to? Can’t you just…”

 

“You want me to get out the staple gun and super glue?” Tony asked sarcastically. “Let’s go.” He bagged the tuxedo and made for the door, but Jethro stopped him, taking hold of his arm.

 

“Tony…wait.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Sorry I…uh…snapped at you,” Jethro mumbled, his face heating up. “I appreciate your help.”

 

Tony had a good look at Jethro’s face, which was turning pink. He seemed contrite and that was good enough for him. “Next time, just ask for help. And,” Tony said, raising a finger to prevent Jethro from talking. “And promise me you will never ever rent a tux without speaking to me first.”

 

“Not a problem because there won’t be another time,” Jethro vowed.

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You’ll probably go to at least a couple of black-tie events a year. Maybe we should look into buying a tailored tuxedo for you. It’ll save money in the long run,” Tony said with a smile before sweeping out the door.

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

The next evening, Tony accompanied Jethro to the annual fundraising ball for the Eastern Racehorse Sanctuary, which took place in a grand mansion on the Potomac. They both wore designer tuxedos, Tony wearing one from his own wardrobe, and Jethro looked fine in a dark navy After Six tuxedo that Tony picked out for him. He had paid the rental shop extra to do rush alterations, and it was worth it.

 

Tony enjoyed himself, even if his handsome date had to be encouraged to smile while he mingled. They both shook a lot of hands, ate some very good canapés and drank some mediocre Champagne, and danced with quite a few attractive and wealthy women. Jethro and Tony teamed up to shoot billiards for charity in the smoking room, and had a good time winning two sets of 3-cushion billiards.

 

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” asked Tony as they left the ball around midnight. He watched Jethro impatiently yanked at his bow tie, which had tightened into a knot. Tony stopped Jethro from getting in the truck – which he had insisted upon driving to the affair – and pulled him around to face him. “Here, let me do that for you. They loved you.”

 

Jethro said grumpily, “They loved _you_ , DiNozzo.”

 

Tony’s hands stilled for a second, knowing that whenever Jethro called him DiNozzo rather than Tony, something was wrong. “Well, I think you look very debonair in your tuxedo, Mr. Gibbs of Kelly Brook Farm Horse Rescue, and so did a lot of those ladies. I don’t mean the ladies were wearing tuxedos. I mean they thought you looked debonair–“

 

“I got it, Tony,” said Jethro, relaxing.

 

“Your rescue got lots of good publicity tonight, and you should be ecstatic that _Horse & Horse Magazine_ is going to do a spread on you next month. The editor said he’d call you next week.” With a flourish, Tony finished undoing Jethro’s tie. “Voila! Now we can go home, slip into something comfortable, and snuggle up in bed.” Jethro was inches away, and looking into his eyes with amusement. The night was cool but meeting Jethro’s warm gaze heated Tony right up. “From the way some of those ladies were checking you out, Jethro, I’d bet it wouldn’t take more than a wink to get any one of them to accompany you home and…and…“

 

Jethro was slowly shaking his head, never taking his eyes off Tony’s.

 

Tony asked, “You don’t want the pick of the ball? Not even that redhead with the big diamond earrings?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Okay…maybe you’d like to stop for a drink somewhere? Bourbon on the rocks? Not me though. You know my record with bourbon. Bourbon and me don’t mix.” Jethro was just standing there, still looking amused, though Tony was picking up a hint of exasperation. He knew he was talking too much so he told himself to shut up. “What’s the matter?”

 

“I’m just waiting for you to stop with the yabba yabba.”

 

“You don’t like my yabba yabba, all those interesting factoids?” Tony asked with a grin. “Did you know that all bourbons are whiskey, but not all whiskey is bourbon? And that Lyndon B. Johnson designated bourbon as the official spirit of the U.S. by an act of Congress in 1964?”

 

Shaking his head, Jethro got in the truck and started the engine as soon as Tony had buckled up. “How much did you have to drink?”

 

Tony ignored the question. “You like wearing that tuxedo, don’t you? There’s nothing like a perfectly fitted suit to make you feel like you’re in charge of the room – not that you need a suit to be in charge of any room, of course.”

 

“Especially not when I’m packing a 9mm,” Jethro said wryly.

 

Tony stared at Jethro. “You weren’t really wearing a gun to the ball…were you?”

 

“Backup. Ankle holster.”

 

“Gunmetal blue to match your formal wear, of course. Very James Bond,” said Tony. “I just gotta say, you look mighty fine in your tuxedo, Jethro.”

 

Jethro colored and shook his head. “You’re wrong. I’m not interested in any of those fancy women.”

 

“You sure? Not even the blond one with the perfect facelift? She’s worth a few million, I hear, and she seemed to like you an awful lot.”

 

Jethro snorted. “Nope.”

 

“No? Who do you like then?”

 

Jethro rolled his eyes and stepped on the gas, pulling out of the parking lot a little too fast. “ _You_ , Tony. I like _you_. Okay? Now, can you shut up ‘til we get home?”

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~


	19. Chapter 19

_Note: I revised the final chapter, adding a bit of background material. As it grew in size, like a lot, I had to divide it into 2 chapters. So that’s why this story is now 20 chapters instead of the original 19. This is 19 out of 20._

 

 

**CHAPTER 19**

 

It was inevitable that one day someone would adopt one of the horses. After months of caring for the big animals – learning about their fears and needs, and teaching them that even if the world could be a cruel place, there were people with good hearts who were willing to work hard to bring about changes – Jethro received a call from Moira. A couple from out of state, the Merrills, wanted to adopt a rescue horse.

 

The Merrills had gone online to the horse rescue network site, and looked over the pictures and profiles of available horses. They had seen Kelly Brook Farm’s horses posted there, and now they wanted to come and see them in person. Moira had thoroughly checked out the prospective adopters before meeting with them, and after putting them through a lengthy interview, she escorted them over to Kelly Brook Farm to meet Jethro and the horses.

 

Jethro put on his best face when he greeted the Merrills, who were in their early 30s and both came from horse-oriented backgrounds; Ben’s father was a large-animal veterinarian and his wife, Suzanne, had ridden and shown horses since she was a girl. They met the horses and Jethro told them about the animals, their health issues, the way Madagascar had to be approached with caution, how BigBoy’s hooves needed extra care, and how far Chevron had come since he’d arrived, malnourished and difficult to handle.

 

Jethro patted the bay’s neck and said, “You have to earn his trust, which isn’t easy, but once you do…”

 

The couple stayed a long time, talking to Moira and Jethro about their experiences with horses over coffee. At the end of their visit they thanked Jethro and said they’d be in touch. A month later Moira called Jethro and told him that the Merrills’ application to adopt one of the horses had gone through, their home and barn had been inspected and they had passed with flying colors.

 

Swallowing hard, hating that it hurt so much to think of one of the horses leaving, Jethro asked, his voice cracking a little, “Which one?”

 

“Chevron…they want Chevron,” Moira said firmly. She informed him that the Merrills would arrive on Saturday morning to pick up Chevron, and take him back home with them. “They’re a good match, Jethro. This is what you’ve worked so hard for. You’ve brought these animals back to health so they can find their forever home,” she said, knowing how hard this was going to be for him.

 

After the call, Jethro sat in his kitchen, his head in his hands, feeling as though someone had punched him. It was stupid, really, because he’d known from day one that the horses were only temporary guests. He knew that they deserved forever homes. The Merrills were nice, kind people, experienced with animals and equipped to handle a horse that might be difficult at times. Chevron would be well taken care of. He’d be safe and well-loved. He got it, he really did…so why did it feel like his heart was being ripped out?

 

He called Tony at work, knowing he shouldn’t be interrupting him, and as soon as Jethro told him that Chevron was going to a new home, Tony insisted on leaving work early so he could be there for him. Jethro hated himself for being such a big baby, and he told Tony not to rush over. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “Come at the weekend, like usual.”

 

After a pause, Tony said, “You’re not fine.”

 

“I’m okay, then. That’s close enough to being fine,” Jethro said, wishing he hadn’t bothered Tony in the first place.

 

Tony sighed. “You know I’m here for you. Whatever you need,” he said in a quiet voice. When Jethro didn’t reply, Tony asked, “Jethro?”

 

“Yeah. I’ll be…okay.” Jethro sighed into the phone. “Look, I’ve got to get back to work.”

 

“Call me if you want to talk,” Tony offered. “If you need me sooner than the weekend…”

 

“Thanks,” Jethro replied, meaning it.

 

When Tony arrived at midday on Sunday, Jethro said that he wanted to be alone, and took off in the direction of the barn. Even if Tony understood that going off alone was the way Jethro handled things, he was a bit hurt about being rejected. He kept out of Jethro’s way until dinnertime, when he showed up smelling of fresh air and hay, and looking a bit less morose.

 

“Steak and cheese sandwiches?” Tony asked.

 

“Sure. You want to eat while we watch the game?”

 

There was football on, and Tony set their dinners on a couple of 1950s-era TV trays Jethro pulled out of the pantry. Things were far quieter than usual as they ate, but at least Jethro traded comments with Tony about the game.

 

At bedtime they followed their usual routine, with Gibbs sitting up reading while Tony watched an old movie on TV, with the sound down low. As always, they slept beside each other, but for the first time they kept to their own side of the bed. Despite having a restless night, Tony was up early, and was downstairs making breakfast before Jethro even stirred.

 

Jethro was distant throughout breakfast, looking downcast, and it hurt Tony to see him like that. Before he left for work, Tony went over to Jethro, where he was standing at the sink, and hugged him gently, saying softly, “If you need me, I’ll come at any time at all.” Jethro hugged him back and gave a small nod.

 

All week long, Jethro put all his energy into working on the farm. There was a lot to do to get the farm ready for winter and he liked to be prepared. It was only two weeks until Thanksgiving and the nights were getting cooler. There had been a good crop of apples and he’d canned or frozen enough vegetables to last a while. Jethro worked hard; he did carpentry around the house and barn, cut down half an acre of shrubbery at the back of the house, cleaned out the workshop, and groomed all the horses until their coats shone.

 

By the time Jethro came to his senses, he was exhausted, and his injured arm felt like it was being ripped out of its socket. He eventually accepted, albeit reluctantly, that it was time to face reality, no matter how difficult it might be: Kelly Brook Farm was a rescue, a place where animals were rehabilitated and then, when they were ready, they moved on. This was what he’d signed up for. It was the horses who were important. They deserved a good home with a family.

 

“I can do this,” he muttered to himself as he iced his shoulder, hoping he hadn’t done too much damage to it. Luckily his arm felt a lot better after a few days of rest and anti-inflammatories.

 

Moira had him over to dinner and talked about some of the horses she’d had the privilege of knowing. She opened large albums and showed him photos and mementoes of the animals who had been in her care over the years. Some of them had passed away, and others had found permanent, loving homes. “You show the horse love and respect and kindness and curiosity, and they will return it. That goes for people too,” Moira said, patting Jethro’s hand.

~  • ~  ~  • ~  ~  • ~

The weekend before Thanksgiving, Ben and Suzanne Merrill arrived at Kelly Brook Farm hauling a horse van behind their pickup. They stood awkwardly outside the barn, with Moira at their side, waiting for Jethro to make the first move. Tony was present, knowing that even if Jethro denied it, he needed him for moral support.

 

The Merrills had already transferred the supplies they’d be taking with them in their truck, and were now waiting to load the horse into their van. “It’s time, Jethro,” Moira said,” her voice kind yet firm.

 

When Jethro stood there, staring at the barn and not making a move towards fetching Chevron, Tony volunteered, “I’ll get him.” He waited a moment, expecting Jethro to say, ‘No, I’ll do it,’ but the older man just nodded, giving Tony permission.

 

It took a lot of self-control for Tony to choke back his emotions as he clipped a lead on the big horse and led him out of the barn for what would be the last time. Somehow, he managed to keep his tears at bay as he walked Chevron across the yard, to the rear of the horse van.

 

Ben Merrill made a move to take Chevron’s lead rope from Tony, but Jethro stepped in. “I’ll do it,” he said, taking hold of the rope.

 

Ben and Suzanne exchanged glances, and she said, “Of course.”

 

Jethro talked softly to the big horse who, without any fuss, followed him up the ramp and into the van. Tony could hear the dull thuds of Chevron’s hooves as he moved about inside. While Jethro was busy securing the big dark horse, Tony stayed close by in case he was needed.

 

Ben walked over to the rear of the open van and called, “Everything okay in there, Jethro?”

 

Jethro called over his shoulder, “I got it,” his tone warning Ben not to join him.

 

Ben glanced at Tony before returning to his wife’s side. Moira took charge and suggested, “Why don’t we move Chevron’s things into the back of the pickup? This seems like a good time.”

 

“There are two boxes just inside the barn,” Tony said, deciding to stay by Jethro while the others loaded up the horse’s supplies.

 

Minutes later, Jethro turned as if to leave the trailer, but after just a couple of steps, he went back and wrapped his arms around the horse’s neck. Chevron nodded his head a couple of times, and tugged at Jethro’s sleeve with his lips. Tony could see Jethro talking softly to the horse, but whatever he was saying seemed private, so Tony didn’t intrude.

 

Suzanne appeared at Tony’s side. She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know it’s really hard for him. I’d be crying buckets.”

 

“He’s probably reminding Chevron of the rules,” Tony said, managing a small smile. He sniffed and rubbed his nose, hoping he wasn’t going to break down in front of everyone.

 

Suzanne looked at Tony quizzically. “There are rules?”

 

“Well, yeah, like, ‘Don’t step on anyone’s toes if you weigh more than they do,’ and ‘No messing up your bunk…uh, stable, right after it’s been cleaned.’”

 

Ben joined them. He nodded and said, “Barn rules. Good to live by, no matter how many legs you’ve got.” Suzanne smiled up at her husband and gave him a hug.

 

Jethro stepped out of the back of the trailer and approached the people who would be taking Chevron to his new home. “He likes apples over carrots,” he told them in a rough voice. The Merrills both nodded. Standing straight as a Marine on a parade ground giving orders, Jethro said, “He needs to be washed with that special shampoo I told you about. I put enough in the box to last you a few weeks. There’s a whole package of information in there too. I wrote down the name of a mail-order place–“

 

“Yes, I saw that. You’ve been very thorough,” Suzanne said. “The boxes are already in the truck. And his blanket, tack, all his things.” She was watching Jethro carefully as she spoke, concerned and sensitive to what he was going through. She glanced at her husband before reaching out to touch Jethro on the arm.

 

For a second, Tony was sure Jethro was going to reject the kindhearted gesture. But then the tension in his demeanor eased and Suzanne’s tentative touch turned into a hug. Jethro did nothing to resist her impulsive gesture, and it looked like he hugged her a little in return.

 

Even though Suzanne spoke softly, her tone was sincere. “We’ll take the _best_ care of Chevron, Jethro, and we’ll love him as much as you do, I promise, and you can come and see him any time–“

 

Jethro stepped back and said gruffly, “You’d better go while you’ve still got daylight.”

 

The couple seemed unsure as how to wind it all up, but Ben stuck out his hand and Jethro was compelled to shake it. Suzanne hesitated, as if she didn’t want to leave Jethro like that, but her husband said, “Best we get going now.”

 

Suzanne nodded and said, “Good bye. Good to meet you, too, Tony.”

 

Moira said good-bye, too, giving both men a hug before getting in her car. She handled the gate, opening it and closing it with practiced movements, waving back at the small group before heading home.

 

Tony stood next to Jethro and watched as Ben Merrill started up his truck and headed slowly up the drive, hauling the horse trailer behind. Jethro walked quickly up the drive to open the gate. Once the pickup was clear, he shut the metal gate with a clang. As the truck pulled out onto the paved road and gathered speed, Tony heard a nicker – Chevron, saying goodbye. One of the horses in the barn whinnied in reply. Tony wiped his sleeve across his eyes, saying, “Damn it.”

 

Jethro stood at the gate for several minutes, a lone figure looking down the road until the truck was out of sight. Just as Tony was about to offer Jethro a shoulder to cry on, if that was what he needed, Jethro abruptly pushed off the gate and headed towards the fields on the far side of the barn.

 

Tony could see how difficult this was for Jethro, watching his favorite horse being taken away by strangers. Even if the animal was going to a wonderful home, to be cared for and loved by some generous people, it was still tough, especially as this was the first time he’d had to deal with letting one of his rescue horses go.

 

Despite an overwhelming desire to run after Jethro and hug away all his unhappiness, Tony didn’t follow him. Jethro needed to deal with this in his own way, which meant retreating, and even if he didn’t like the way Jethro handled things, Tony had to respect his wishes.

~  • ~  ~  • ~  ~  • ~

Daylight waned and Tony turned on the porch lights, but there was still no sign of Jethro.

 

Tony waited on the porch until it got dark, and then he went inside. At a loss about what to do, he started a fire in the living room, and then set about tidying up his things, including the DVDs he’d left strewn across the coffee table. He slid them into the built-in bookcase, next to Jethro’s collection of vintage Zane Grey novels and newer books on the care of horses. They looked good together, Jethro’s things and his own entertainment, like they belonged.

 

Looking for something to do while he waited for Jethro to return, Tony stripped the sheets off his bed as well as Jethro’s, even though he felt funny about going into the man’s bedroom without permission, and put them in the wash. While he waited for the dryer cycle to end, he sat in the living room with a book, occasionally glancing out the window to see if there was any sign of his wayward friend.

 

As he waited, Tony remembering a conversation he’d had with Jethro a few weeks ago, while in Jethro’s workshop. Never breaking the rhythm as he’d sanded a plank needed to repair the barn floor, Jethro had casually asked, “You going to keep that shoebox of a place you rent in DC?”

 

No, he wasn’t, Tony had replied. As soon as his term in Congress was over, at the end of the year which was only five weeks away, he wouldn’t need the tiny studio any more. “Problem is, I don’t have anywhere else lined up.” He’d sunk most of his money buying back half of the business he’d built and then sold, SafeZone, so he wasn’t in a position to buy a house or even a condo near DC. Renting somewhere cheap was his only option, but at least he could visit Kelly Brook Farm at weekends.

 

Jethro had raised an eyebrow and asked, “Tell me when, and I’ll drive over in the pickup.”

 

“Pickup? What’re you coming over for?”

 

Shaking his head and continuing with his sanding, Jethro had said, “Well, we’ve gotta lug all your fancy suits and whatever crap you’ve got, over here, don’t we?”

 

His heart beating fast, and hardly believing that Jethro was asking him to move in with him, like _really_ moving in, not just weekends, Tony had carefully asked, “You sure about this?”

 

Jethro’s reply had been roll of his eyes and a sarcastic, “Either you move in, or Abby’s gonna make me open a bed and breakfast, what with all those empty rooms upstairs.”

 

Chuckling, Tony had said, “No, please don’t put any B&B sign out. I…I want to move in with you, Jethro.”

 

“You’re okay if word gets out you’re living with a man. Even if he is a grouchy old farmer?” Jethro had asked.

 

“But you’re not old,” Tony had replied with a teasing smile. “But yes, I can take it. Can we do it at the end of the month? Then I can commute from here. Sound good?”

 

“Sounds very good.” Jethro had turned his head and met his eyes, smiling one of the biggest smiles Tony had ever seen on his handsome face. The thought of moving in here, at Jethro’s invitation, was a big step to take, even if it was one that made him feel good inside. Very, very good, in fact. Tony had wondered then, and he still did, if the day he moved in permanently, they would be honest with each other and share his bed as a couple – none of this Jethro falling asleep next to him ‘by mistake,’ and avoiding each other’s eyes the next morning when they discovered they had become intertwined like lovers in the night.

 

Tony sat in front of the fire in the living room and placed a call to his business partner, Parker Prentice. They discussed some of the more immediate aspects of the business that needed attention, went over details, and decided on a time for a face-to-face meeting. Tony was excited to get back into the business, and he liked working with Parker. The man had been one of the wilder of Tony’s frat brothers, and although he still had a bit of that undisciplined behavior in him, Parker was also a motivated businessman who wanted nothing more than to make SafeZone a success.

 

When six o’clock rolled around, and Jethro still hadn’t made an appearance, Tony checked out the fridge to see what they might have for dinner. After putting some potatoes, vegetables and cooked chicken in a frying pan on the stovetop, pouring chicken soup over the lot and leaving it to simmer, Tony put on a pot of coffee and started doing the dishes.

 

He was almost finished when he heard the door open. Jethro walked into the kitchen, looking drained. Tony was relieved that he was back, but was unsure what to say in the wake of the emotional parting. Knowing Jethro, he’d prefer that Tony didn’t broach the subject. Unfortunately for Jethro, that wasn’t Tony’s way.

 

Tony rinsed the last plate and put it in the drainer. “I just made a fresh pot of coffee. You want some chicken and veggies, sort of a frying pan stew I got going, or I could whip you up an omelet…” He turned, drying his hands on a towel, and found Jethro just standing there, looking as if he’d lost his best friend. What do you say to a man who just said goodbye to a beloved animal whom he would most likely never see again?

 

But just as Tony said, “He’s going to be fine,” Jethro said tiredly, “You should go now, Tony. You need to leave.”

 

There was a terrible air of finality about those words, as if was all settled that Tony should leave and not return, and it scared him. “No, that’s okay. I have to keep an eye on the dinner, and the sheets are still in the dryer,” Tony said, purposely misunderstanding Jethro.

 

“Just go,” Jethro said sharply, turning away. “Go home!”

 

Tony sent a plea to the older man, and grabbed his arm. “C’mon, Jethro…”

 

“For once, can you just do as I ask, DiNozzo?” Jethro said loudly, his eyes flashing as he faced Tony.

 

It was the first time since the Merrills had driven up in their truck that Jethro had met Tony’s eyes, and now he knew why the man had been avoiding looking directly at him. For once, Jethro was finding it impossible to keep his feelings hidden, and the sadness and utter loss, and Jethro’s desperate attempt to keep those feelings locked up, was enough to make Tony throw caution to the wind. He drew Jethro into a hug, wrapping his arms around him.

 

“Don’t,” Jethro said, his voice rough, but he didn’t do anything to extricate himself from Tony’s hold.

 

Still holding onto Jethro, Tony leaned back enough to study his face. “I’ll leave, Jethro, because you ask me, but I want you to know it’s under duress. I don’t want to go, and you know why? Because _this_ is my home. And I’m not saying that because I love the house and the horses, and all of Kelly Brook Farm, or because I have a wonderful room upstairs that you decorated just for me. It’s not even because I’m pitiful and don’t have anywhere else to go – which I don’t, right now, unless you count the studio rental – but this is my home because _you_ took me in when I was down, and _you_ made this a home for me.” Tony pressed his lips to Jethro’s hair and reluctantly released him. “You sure you don’t want me to stay?”

 

Jethro gave a slight shake of his head, averting his gaze.

 

Tony sighed. He hated this. It felt wrong, like he was deserting the man, but he’d said he would leave, so he would. For now. “Call me if you need anything, okay?” Tony said, then quickly headed for the back door, scooping up his car keys and go-bag on his way past. He hated getting in his car, hated driving up the driveway, hated that he had to get out to open the gate and drive through. He wanted to stay, damn it! Jethro needed him, even if he was too stubborn to admit it, but Tony knew when not to push, and when Jethro was stubborn, he became an impenetrable wall.

 

After driving through the gate, Tony stopped the car and got out to close it behind him so any horses, should they ever break loose, couldn’t get far. He looked back at the old farmhouse with its porch lamp shining brightly, and the glimmer of light emanating from the kitchen window. Sighing, he got back in his car with a heavy heart, and started down the road. He hadn’t driven half a mile when his cell phone rang. Not even looking at the caller ID, Tony answered, “DiNozzo.”

 

There was silence on the line, and just as Tony was about to hang up he heard a sigh, and he knew it was Jethro.

 

“I’m…I’m calling,” Jethro said, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

 

“Uh, yeah, I figured that much out,” Tony said, wondering what was going on.

 

“You said to call you,” said Jethro, sounding annoyed.

 

“Okaaaay.” Tony still wasn’t sure what Jethro wanted.

 

“If I need anything.”

 

“So…what do you need?”

 

“For God’s sake, DiNozzo, get the hell back here,” Jethro said loudly.

 

Tony didn’t need to be told twice. He almost took out a neighbor’s mailbox as he executed a tight turn, tires squealing.

 

**~  • ~  ~  • ~  ~  • ~**


	20. Chapter 20

_Note: I revised the final chapter, adding a bit of background material. As it grew in size, I had to divide it into 2 chapters. So that’s why this story is now 20 chapters instead of the original 19._ _This is chapter 20 out of 20, the final chapter!_

_Thanks for all your comments along the way!_

  

**CHAPTER 20**

 

Tony screeched to a halt at the top of the drive. He had to deal with the gate again, and the damned mechanism decided to be stubborn, making him waste several precious minutes trying to get the latch undone. Finally it snicked open. Again, Tony drove in and stopped the car only long enough to lock the gate behind him. “I swear I’m going to get this thing hooked up to a remote,” he muttered. After parking in front of the house, Tony practically fell out of his car in his haste. He jogged around the side porch and hurried inside, banging the door shut behind him on his way through the mudroom and into the kitchen.

 

Jethro was standing in pretty much the same spot Tony had last seen him in, only this time he was wearing a determined expression. Tony stopped a couple of feet from the older man, panting a little from his hasty return. When Jethro didn’t say anything, Tony looked straight at him and asked impatiently, “So?”

 

With a slight shrug, Jethro asked, “So, you want to stay?”

 

“Is this a trick question? You just threw me out,” Tony said, acting affronted.

 

“Yeah, DiNozzo, I want you to stay,” Jethro said, annoyed.

 

“Okay…You mean…for dinner?” He wasn’t about to turn any invitation down at this point. Besides, the dinner he’d left on the stove looked like it was ready to serve, and the aroma was making his mouth water.

 

But Jethro was shaking his head, ever so slowly, never taking his eyes off Tony. “Nope. I’m not talking about dinner.”

 

“So… you don’t want me to stay for dinner?” Tony didn’t get what was going on, but at least there was now a gleam in Jethro’s eyes, which was a good thing – wasn’t it?

 

“I’m asking if you want to stay…for _breakfast_ ,” Jethro said. “Tomorrow. And the next day, too, and for however long you’ll put up with me. I want you to _stay_.”

 

It took Tony all of two seconds to finally grasp what was going on, but he was so fascinated by the flush creeping up Jethro’s neck and coloring his cheeks that it took an additional moment for him to react. “Oh, stay, as in _stay_! Wow.”

 

Jethro raised his eyebrows and waited.

 

Tony had feared earlier that when Jethro had asked him to leave, he had been breaking up with him – not that they had exactly been a couple. But now it was obvious that Jethro wanted him to stay, to move in permanently, and the turnaround was both a surprise and a relief.

 

Tony smiled and shook a finger at Jethro. “You’ve been watching _Murphy’s Romance_ , haven’t you? Yeah, Sally Fields keeps offering James Garner a home-cooked meal and fresh-baked pies every time he goes to leave her little ranch at the end of the day. So he stays…for breakfast…dinner…a little roll in the hay. Of course her ex turns up and romances her and Garner gets jealous and–”

 

Jethro advanced on Tony until they were chest to chest, and interrupted. “You finished?”

 

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” Tony responded, unable to keep a broad grin off his face at their close proximity. He leaned forward and boldly sniffed at Jethro’s neck. The man smelled of sawdust, and fresh hay with a hint of manure, a heady mixture in Tony’s book.

 

“I’m not gonna hide this, our relationship, that we live together,” Jethro said.

 

“Wait a minute! Did you say...relationship?” Tony asked, a little dazed.

 

“If you can’t handle it or you don’t want people talking… I won’t take this any further,” said Jethro, speaking as if the words were difficult to get out.

 

“I know what it means when I agree to stay,” Tony said, admittedly thinking about the consequences of such a decision with some trepidation. “I want to stay here with you, Jethro,” he said seriously.

 

“Good, that’s good.” Jethro gave the back of Tony’s neck a gentle, affectionate squeeze and then ran his hand back and forth over the short hairs at his nape. When Tony breathed out a soft, happy sigh, Jethro smiled. “You like that, huh?”

 

Tony nodded. It felt so good, so right, that he wondered why he’d ever thought this wouldn’t work for them. He rubbed Jethro’s back, pushing up his loose shirt so he could touch his skin, which was warm and surprisingly silky, and when Jethro buried his face in Tony’s neck, Tony closed his eyes and made a sound of contentment.

 

“Tony?”

 

“Mmm,” Tony replied vaguely. At least Jethro wasn’t calling him DiNozzo any longer.

 

“Will the dinner wait ‘til later?” Jethro searched Tony’s eyes for confirmation that he was being understood.

 

Tony heard the words, and he understood them, probably far better than Jethro believed he did. The problem was that no matter how good this sounded, how appealing and arousing this all was, being touched and held, and loved – because he could feel the love in Jethro’s gentle caresses – all of a sudden Tony was afraid. He thought about how Wendy had found someone else because he hadn’t been able to give her enough. What if Jethro decided he wasn’t what he really wanted after a few months – or a couple of years down the road? God, just thinking of losing Jethro made Tony’s heart ache. He’d never survive being rejected again, it hurt so much.

 

Now it looked as though Jethro could see the doubt coursing through him. Jethro’s hands encompassed his, squeezing gently as he assured him, “I’m not going to hurt you, or leave you. I’ll never do that to you, Tony.”

 

“It’s just that I…I don’t want to hurt _you_. I…Look, I’ve never been with a man, and I’m in the middle of changing career paths here, and there’s the divorce thing, not to mention my dad trying to steer me into the White House, and if anyone gets wind of this…well, you know how the press can be like rabid dogs at the slightest hint of scandal and I don’t want them to make trouble for you and–“

 

Jethro hushed him and said, “Hey, hey! Look, I’ve never been with a guy before, either. I’ve changed careers a few times myself. Divorce? You know my record with that. It’s tough and painful to get past it, but you pick yourself up and move on to the next stage in your life. And as far as your father goes? Hell, ignore him. You’re your own man. And the rabid pack?” Jethro gave Tony a crooked smile that made his heart beat faster. “I’ve been a Marine and a Federal agent for over thirty years, so if you think I’m not able to face the enemy and do whatever’s necessary to protect my own…”

 

Tony looked down as Jethro’s fingers laced through his, and that one small thing gave him strength. “You’re a good man, Jethro Gibbs, too good for me–“

 

“I’m not. I’m not,” Jethro insisted.

 

“…but if you’re willing to take a risk with me…”

 

“Seems like I already did that, Tony, the moment I opened my door and let you in. I had a feeling it was going to be tough, getting rid of you,” Jethro joked.

 

But had he truly let him in, Tony wondered? So far Jethro had kept his feelings to himself, for the most part. He sure hadn’t come to him after the Merrills had taken Chevron away, at a time when he most needed a shoulder to cry on. Tony had to ask, “What about today? You just walked away from me. You can’t do that if this if we’re going to make this work. I need you to talk to me, tell me what’s going on. I know you’re upset about Chevron, and I am too. I know my feelings are nothing compared to the way you feel about that horse, with the connection you have, but…I want to help you.”

 

For a moment Jethro’s features twisted with pain, but he reined in his emotions and said, “My ex, Diane, she used to say I was like an old wolf who went off on his own to die when the time came. But I’ll try to…”

 

“Try to be more open,” Tony suggested.

 

The corner of Jethro’s mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile, and he nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. Be more open.”

 

Tony smiled back, thinking that at least this was a good start. Jethro surprised him by pulling him into his arms and holding him tight. They were close, cheeks pressing against each other, with Jethro’s warm breath on his neck, and just as Tony melted into his arms and thought how good a kiss would be right about now, Jethro spoke, his voice muffled. “Diane…she was wrong, you know. I’m not so much a lone wolf. Not when I’m with the right person.”

 

“Are you saying that I’m the right person?” Tony asked cautiously, not daring to believe it was true.

 

“You damn sure are.” Jethro raised his head and looked into Tony’s eyes as if he was seeking something in their depths. “But you, what do you want?”

 

It was really hard to think with Jethro looking at him with such an intense gaze, but Tony managed to croak, “I want to stay.”

 

Jethro looked pleased. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. I do! I want to be part of your life, and to come home to you after a long day, and maybe get a foot rub after a home-cooked meal. I want to have a home where I can make a place for my son. I want to be loved without being judged, and I want someone to be there to hold me when I’ve been kicked around and things don’t look so bright. I want someone to I can lean on sometimes, who’ll tell me everything’s going to be all right, and I’ll believe him. And it’s just as important for me to be there for you, because if you let me do that, I’ll be happy.” He took a breath, realizing how he’d risked everything by laying out his feelings. Jethro was still holding him within the circle of his arms, smiling in a way that made Tony’s heart speed up, and made him brave enough to say, “Most of all, I want you to love me ­– and even if it’s just a little, that’s okay, because I love you enough for both of us, and…and, I guess that’s all.”

 

Jethro’s smile, even though it was slight, was full of love and affection, which for some reason was better than one of his rare, brilliant smiles that emerged at special times, like when he watched the horses running across the field.

 

Jethro said, “That’s a pretty long list of things you want, but I think I can make good on most of them. My home is your home, and I aim to be there for you whenever you need me. And, I’ve got feelings for you, too. I have, pretty much from the first moment I saw you at my door, wet and scared as a cat in a thunderstorm.”

 

“I’m not a cat, wet or otherwise,” Tony protested, eyeing Jethro’s lips as they quirked up at the corners. He was just wondering if he should make the first move when Jethro took his face in both hands and kissed him thoroughly. Tony moaned and opened up, kissing Jethro back with a yearning so fierce that he surprised himself. They shared hard possessive kisses that morphed into slower, getting-to-know-you ones, but it was the gentle kisses that followed that left Tony weak in the knees. He could have gone on like that forever, sharing kisses, running his hands up and down the older man’s muscular back, and taking pleasure in being caressed by big, strong hands, but Jethro pulled back and gave a small sigh.

 

“What’s the matter?” asked Tony, worried that he’d done something wrong.

 

Jethro shook his head and said, “You moving in…Is this gonna cause trouble with that ex-wife of yours?”

 

Tony sighed. Practical matters had to be dealt with. “Why would she cause…? Oh, you mean because of Zack coming here.” For a moment Tony considered keeping his ex-wife in the dark about his living arrangements with Jethro, and hiding the way they felt about each other, but Zack would soon figure it out. He was a bright child, and observant, and he’d tell his mother. “I don’t want to sneak around. This is too important to lie about,” Tony said. Jethro dipped his head, agreeing. Tony continued, “She’s going to be surprised as hell to find out I like men now…”

 

“You like men?” Jethro asked, his eyes narrowing.

 

Tony laughed. “Correction: I like one man, and one man only. Look, she’ll freak out at first, but…I’ll ask my dad to talk to her. She’ll listen to him. She won’t kick up a fuss if she thinks she’ll lose his backing,” Tony assured Jethro.

 

“Which means you need to tell him first,” Jethro said, sounding uneasy.

 

“Yup. That it won’t be an easy conversation,” Tony said morosely. Senior might not be openly homophobic, but he would never understand how his own son could choose to be with a man rather than with a woman. Senior would take it personally that Tony was gay, and he would demand to know what had _he_ done to deserve it. He could just see his father tearing his hair out while asking, “Where did I go wrong? I gave you everything! How could you do this to me? What will people say?” And then he’d turn on Jethro, and blame him for corrupting his son. “This could turn into a big mess,” Tony said to himself.

 

Still, Senior badly wanted Tony to stay in politics, and he’d do whatever it took to keep him heading in that direction. It was an obsession with him, albeit an unrealistic one. Tony had no intention of remaining in a field that he had grown disillusioned with; being a politician was not on his agenda, not any longer. He was eager to be back doing threat assessments and investigations within his own company, being his own boss again – and nothing could sway him from his ambitions. He’d promised his father he would consider running for the Senate, and that he would listen to his advice, but listening was as far as he would go.

 

Tony asked Jethro, “And what about you? Do you want to keep this just between us? Do you want to tell your friends? Moira? Abby and Fornell?” Tell one person, and then another, and soon the whole world would know, and next thing, their personal lives would be smeared across the tabloids. As it was, the whole thing seemed to be snowballing, and Tony would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared about the repercussions. He swore under his breath, “Damn it…”

 

Jethro took hold of Tony’s hands. “Hey. I don’t care who knows.”

 

“You don’t?”

 

“Of course not, but I don’t want to take out a front page ad, either. If the custody of your boy didn’t come into this, I’d say we keep it to ourselves. But you need to tell Wendy before she hears it from someone else.” Jethro rubbed his hand up and down Tony’s back and said, “I think we’ve had enough of this for now. There’s no rush, so we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

 

Tony nodded. The subject was making his head spin, and besides, he’d rather get back to making out.

 

Jethro’s gaze dropped to Tony’s mouth, and he asked in a husky voice, “So, we’re done talking? You think maybe we can take this somewhere more comfortable?”

 

Tony’s entire body heated up in anticipation. “Definitely. You up for some more kissing?” he asked hopefully. The slowly made their way towards the stairs, hanging onto each other like newly-in-love teenagers.

 

“You like that, do ya?”

 

Tony nodded. “With you. Better than the first time.”

 

Jethro stopped a few steps up to frown at Tony. “Well, you were drunk–“

 

“I wasn’t exactly drunk,” Tony said, remembering the way he’d been totally out of it, and had just about attacked Jethro, pulling him down onto the bed and kissing him without warning. It certainly became interesting when Jethro reciprocated, and now, just thinking about that searing kiss made Tony hard.

 

“You were definitely not in control, between booze and medication,” Jethro pointed out dryly. “You told me it afterwards, it was a mistake.”

 

Tony felt his cheeks getting hot. “I didn’t plan it, not consciously, anyway, but I’d never call it a _mistake_. It’s just… I was kinda under the influence at the time.”

 

“You don’t say.”

 

They continued upstairs and when they reached the landing, Tony said with a smirk, “But it was a really good kiss, all the same. Better than good. It was hot, like _really_ hot.”

 

“I’m surprised you remember it.”

 

“Impossible to forget,” Tony said with a big smile.

 

“Hmm. Well, this time should be just as memorable.”

 

“You’re gonna have your work cut out for you, you know. Topping the world’s best kiss ain’t easy,” Tony said with a teasing smile.

 

“Best kiss?”

 

“Sure, the first one always is, even if you’re drunk, and your teeth clash and you can’t figure out where your nose goes.”

 

“Don’t worry, I think I know exactly where my nose goes,” Jethro said, leaning in for a kiss. He wasn’t shy about using his tongue and teeth, and in response, Tony grabbed the short strands of his hair until Jethro moaned. He tilted his head, sucking on Tony’s tongue while he pushed him against the wall just outside Tony’s bedroom, grinding their hips together like he meant business.

 

Still kissing and hanging onto each other, they made their way into the bedroom, dancers in an erotic embrace. When Tony felt the mattress hitting the back of his legs, he pulled back a little, breathing heavily.

 

Jethro, who was breathing pretty fast, too, asked, “You okay with this?”

 

Tony took a moment to clear his head, and then he nodded. He stood there, a little unsure about how to progress, but Jethro took charge, stripping them both down with his usual efficiency. It happened so fast that there was no room for embarrassment, and barely enough time to get a decent look at Jethro’s half-hard cock jutting out of a thatch of dark hair. Jethro reached down and stroked Tony’s cock, making an appreciative sound, and Tony all but melted.

 

The fell together on the bed, all long limbs and hard muscles, moving in synch as they explored each other with hands and mouths, in a way that felt perfectly natural.

 

Tony’s entire world narrowed until he focused only on Jethro’s greedy mouth, his clever fingers – and yes, his cock. It was long and thick and hot, he discovered, once he got up the nerve to take it in his hand. Jethro groaned and his cock hardened and thickened within Tony’s firm grasp. Tony thought about where Jethro was going to put it, and his grip tightened. Jethro gave a deep, throaty moan, and kissed him hard, and when their lips parted and they panted into each other’s mouths, Jethro murmured, “God, I love you, a hell of a lot more than a little,” making Tony’s heart ache with unexpected intensity.

 

Tony laid a hand on Jethro’s chest, and said, “I need to tell you…” Oh God, he had to tell him, had to say it now, before he chickened out.

 

“Shhh.”

 

“When I was kidnapped. When he had me…”

 

Jethro caressed Tony’s cheek and said softly, “Tony…you don’t have to…”

 

Tony looked up, into Jethro’s eyes. “I have to. I didn’t tell you everything. I’ve never told anyone.”

 

Jethro seemed to understand how it was important that he reveal everything he’d been unable to say ever since his abduction. “Take your time,” Jethro said in a soothing tone, pulling Tony into his arms and resting his chin on his hair.

 

“I love you, too, Jethro,” Tony said softly.

 

“I know.”

 

Tony felt a kiss on his hair, and the strong arms tightened around him. “He hurt me,” he whispered, hating the words, hating the lingering fear he felt, how it made him sick to his stomach. Tony stared blindly at Jethro’s chest for a long time, and then he closed his eyes. “He took my clothes away,” he said, barely above a whisper. It sounded loud in the quiet room. “H-he said he liked to see the marks…bruises, what he’d done to me. He called them his mementoes. They proved he was superior, that’s what he said. He kept saying he was smarter than the cops, than everyone else, smarter and better, and he was using me to show them. I knew he was going to kill me. I could tell.” He was trembling, despite the way Jethro was holding him, protectively, as if he were the most precious thing.

 

“It’s all right. I’ve got you,” Jethro said, his voice low, stroking his hair.

 

“I’m sorry…”

 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You get that into your head, Tony. He’s dead and gone. There’s nobody going to hurt you, not ever again. Got that?”

 

Tony nodded. He took Jethro’s hand and kissed the palm. It smelled like sawdust, piney and fresh. It gave him strength to continue. “H-he forced me face down on the table. I…I thought he was going to rape me, but he jerked himself off, came all over my back. My hands and feet were tied. So tight my hands were numb. I couldn’t…couldn’t move. I tried to fight him, but I couldn’t…I couldn’t.” All of a sudden, hot tears streamed down his face. Relief, deep sadness, and so much anger – Tony felt them all, and so much more. Unable to hold back any longer, he let out a sob, and then another and it all came out in a flood that he couldn’t stem.

 

For the longest time, Jethro stroked Tony’s back, making shushing sounds, trying to console him as he would one of his horses. Eventually, the tears dried up. Tony wiped his eyes on a corner of the sheet, and raised his face so he could look into Jethro’s eyes. He’d always been afraid of what he’d see there, distaste or revulsion probably – but he needn’t have worried. Jethro’s eyes shined with anger and love, a strange mix, to be sure. It was so like Jethro to be feeling such conflicting emotions at the same time. Tony knew that anger was for the man who’d hurt him, but the love, which was for _him_ , was so much stronger.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jethro murmured, visibly upset. “I’m so, so sorry.”

 

“Don’t. It’s all right,” Tony said, realizing that it truly was. He’d said what he had needed to say and now, maybe, he could put it behind him. “I got away. You were there…”

 

Jethro was watching him carefully, and then he nodded. He kept his arms around Tony, loosely, and waited for an indication as how to proceed.

 

After wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand, Tony raised up and took take Jethro’s face in his hands. “I love you,” he said once more, and expressed his deep love for the man in a long, emotional kiss.

 

Jethro kissed Tony tenderly, caressing his bare skin, murmuring softly, “so beautiful,” and “you’re safe,” and, “so brave.”

 

Tony kissed Jethro back, tentatively at first, and then with mounting passion, moaning into his mouth, taking everything that Jethro was willing to give. Impassioned, they grasped at each other’s hair, angling their heads, kissing lips and cheeks and necks, until they broke apart, gasping for air. Tony couldn’t help but laugh with happiness, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. “I want you to make love to me,” he murmured. “I want it so badly. I’ve waited so long for this, I can hardly breathe.”

 

It was as if some long-asleep instinct kicked in, some kind of secret knowledge that told him that this was how he should present himself, knees pulled to his chest; this was how to make love, opening himself up to this wonderful man; this was how to eradicate the past and drive the demons away. Jethro’s fingers, blunt and slicked with lube, penetrated him with agonizingly slow care, and he kept saying, “Yes, yes, I want this. It’s okay. I trust you.” He guided Jethro, and showed him what he wanted, encouraging him, and then Jethro’s cock slid into him, filling him in a way he’d never foreseen. “Please…please move,” Tony moaned, clinging to his shoulders, licking the salty skin and moaning, hungry for more.

 

Jethro was breathing hard into his neck, gasping Tony’s name in time with every thrust, his unshaven jaw rasping like sandpaper across Tony’s tender skin and _fuck_ , that was so hot Tony grabbed his aching hard-on and started pumping. Jethro’s hand was there, covering his, working with him. It only took a couple of twists and pulls and Tony was shouting and coming so hard he almost blacked out.

 

Jethro drove deeply into him, his thrusts erratic. Tony clung to him and cried out Jethro’s name again and again. Afterwards, with Jethro still inside him, and Tony’s heaving breaths turned to sobs, Jethro held Tony close and ran a loving hand over his hair, while whispering, “It’s all right, I’ve got you. You’re mine now. Everything is all right.”

~  • ~  ~  • ~  ~  • ~

Whatever Tony had lost when he’d caught Wendy cheating, when her lies had torn a little hole in his heart that gaped wider every time he moved forward, and whatever had been stolen from him by the madman who had kidnapped him and tried to wreck him, he gained back tenfold. That night with Jethro, being consumed by the man’s love and desire, marked the beginning of a change in Tony. That change, that process, may have started much earlier, as early as when Jethro had rescued him one stormy night, but it was on _this_ night that he made the most important choice of his life.

 

This was the turning point, the beginning of a new life with the man he loved, the man who made him _feel_ deeply and unequivocally loved. Yes, he could admit it – he loved Jethro Gibbs, and what was even more significant, the man loved him, and there was nothing half-hearted about it.

~  • ~  ~  • ~  ~  • ~

Jethro stood by his partner's side when he had to face his father and tell him he was gay, and living with a man. Senator DiNozzo did pretty much what Jethro had expected, as far as reaction went. There was shock, denial, and a whole truckload of bluster and blame, but then Senior stopped, practically mid-sentence. He glared at Jethro and snarled, "If I find out you coerced my son into this, or if you hurt him in any way, so help me, I'll rip your balls out your throat and tack them to your barn door. You got that?" Well, that left Tony speechless, and Jethro, he stood at attention and took everything Senior dished out because if their positions had been reversed, he'd have pretty much said the same thing. Only maybe he'd have just ripped the guy's balls off without warning him.

 

After things had cooled down a bit, Tony asked his dad if he could smooth things over with Wendy for him. Senior took his time, but he agreed. He thought Tony should accompany him, but Jethro thought Tony should talk to her alone, and so, after some discussion, all three of them - Tony, Senior and Jethro - went to Wendy's house and sat around her kitchen table, armed with black coffee and whiskey chasers. Like Senior, Wendy was shocked at first, and then she cried and got angry and blamed Tony for ruining their marriage. Jethro knew Tony would take the accusations to heart, and that made him so mad he laid into Wendy himself, reminding her about her infidelity and how she'd hurt Tony by her actions. Of all things, Senior held him back, and acted as a mediator of sorts. They talked and talked, until Jethro's head hurt, but eventually they reached a point where they were talking calmly.

 

By the time they left, Wendy was exhausted but she agreed they'd talk more more in a couple of days. On the way out, Senior surprised Jethro, and Tony, when he made it clear to Wendy that he expected her to accept Tony for who he was. "You say anything negative about my son, or cause him trouble, or even mention to anyone about his...changed circumstances...well, just remember I carry a lot of power in this town, and I'm not known for playing fair." Senior kissed a shocked looking Wendy on the cheek and said, in parting, "You make sure Zack spends the weekend with his dad, up at the farm. They need some father-son time together, and I'll take you to that fancy dinner going on at the White House Saturday night. Deal?"

 

That weekend, Wendy dropped Zack off at the gate. She didn't come in though. After a father-son lunch, when a very nervous Tony told Zack what Jethro meant to him, how he loved him and had moved in with him, the boy took it in his stride. He was quiet for a while, and then asked if there was any blueberry pie for dessert. There was. After he'd eaten a big slice with ice cream, Zack turned to his father and asked, with an anxious expression, "Are you still going to be my dad?" That just about broke Tony's heart, and he immediately hugged his son and assured him he was the same old dad. Always would be. Still, he knew it was going to take time for Zack to digest everything, and he wouldn't be at all surprised if there were tears or angry words in the near future.

 

Later that afternoon, they went riding with Jethro, along a lightly wooded path along the river that bordered Kelly Brook Farm. Tony noticed Zack kept looking sideways at Jethro, but it wasn't until they had brought the horses back to the barn and rubbed them down that Zack approached the older man. Zack had always been a straightforward kid, and sensitive to other people's emotions. "Are young to marry my dad?" he asked Jethro. Tony stood back to watch the interaction between his kid and his lover. He raised an eyebrow at Jethro, and crossed his arms, wanting to know the answer to that question, too.

 

Jethro got a little flushed, and he took a moment to form a response, but when he spoke it was sincere. "I plan to spend the rest of my days with your dad, Zack, so if that means we get married, then I'm all for it. I think we have to ask Tony, though."

Zack shrugged and asked Jethro, "What about rule 18? I say just go for it. Dad'll follow your lead."

 

Jethro laughed at that and met Tony's eyes over Zack's head. "I guess that means we're gonna get hitched. That right, Tony?"

 

"Don't waste good," Tony replied, his smile wide enough to split his face. He hugged his son and said, "I love you. Both of you."

 

Jethro joined in the hug, then headed out of the barn in the direction of the house. "Better get cracking, boys! We've got a wedding to plan."

 

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 

Jethro laughed at the way people thought he was all hard-assed and impatient. How the hell did they think he had excelled at being a sniper if he didn’t possess the patience of Job? He had to have patience, and a lot of it, loving Tony. Tony might be quick to champion others, but when it came to himself? Then, he was insecure, a sweet guy who was convinced that nobody could really love him, and who, for years, had covered up his loneliness with laughter while settling for being everyone’s best friend.

 

No more though. Jethro did everything he could to make sure that Tony knew he was loved and needed. He couldn’t help it; he loved the vulnerable side of Tony, because it was when Tony was down, when things were at their worst, that Jethro felt he was most needed. And if being wanted and needed made him a needy son-of-a-bitch, then so be it.

 

They’d had to work at their relationship – yes, he used that word freely now – and he’d even read a few books on the subject. He’d put those books aside though, in favor of learning from the wisest creatures of all, his horses. The gentle, smart, and physically strong animals understood the value of a gentle hand, and a firm, guiding hand, too, if need be. The horses were loyal and fierce, and wild underneath their civilized appearance. Tony once told him that he wasn’t at all like a wolf, lone or otherwise – he was like a horse, with all the best qualities of the animals that Jethro often referred to as his visitors. He could readily accept that, and be proud of it, and he loved Tony for thinking that of him.

 

On their first anniversary, early in April, the weatherman predicted a cool day with sunny skies. What nobody could predict was that when a horse van pulled up in front of the barn, Tony, his wonderful, crazy man, would tell him to close his eyes. Jethro grumbled but did as he was told, hearing the sound of the ramp being lowered, hooves on the drive, and a soft nicker. When Tony finally told him he could open his eyes, there, standing in front of him, was Chevron, the small bay with the white V on his forehead, the first horse his rescue had ever released to a good home.

 

And when Tony excitedly explained that the people who had adopted Chevron had been relocated overseas, and he had decided to bring Jethro’s friend home, Jethro didn’t know who to hug first, Tony or the horse.

 

He somehow managed to embrace both of them at the same time.

 

 **~  • ~  ~  • ~  ~  • ~** **end** **~  • ~  ~  • ~  ~  • ~**

 

 

 

 


End file.
